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\\ HERE AGNES SURRIAGE MAY HAVE LIVED 






i 

AGNES SURRIAGE 


BY 

EDWIN LASSETTER gYNNER 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 

STANLEY W. WOODWAED 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 
tEfje Bibcrsibc #res« Cam&ntrge 
1923 






COPYRIGHT, 1886, BY EDWIN LASSETTER BYNNER 
COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



f 


t 


t JUberfitot J)re8« 
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A, 


MAR 26’23 

© Cl A698749 

<-vm$ *Y 


PREFACE, 


S TUDENTS of early American history are already 
familiar with the romantic story upon which 
this book is founded, and will recognize the struc¬ 
tural events as well-known historical facts. To others 
the truth may be pleaded as an excuse for the use 
of incidents which the story-teller of to-day would 
hesitate to introduce. 

Unwilling to be suspected of inventing truths so 
much stranger than fiction, the author thinks it fit¬ 
ting to premise this brief word of explanation. Very 
gladly, too, he avails himself of the same opportunity 
to express grateful acknowledgments to all those who 
have in any way aided him in his researches. 

Chief among these, thanks are due to Miss Amy 
Whinyates, of Cheltenham, England, a member of 
the Frankland family, for much interesting infor¬ 
mation and valuable unpublished memoranda; to 
Dr. Samuel A. Green, of the Massachusetts Historical 
Society, for access to the baronet’s autograph diary, 
deposited in the archives of that Society ; to Dr. John 
F. Pratt, of Chelsea, for various prints of people and 



Vi 


PREFACE. 


places connected with the story, and especially for 
the gift of a portrait-etching of the hero himself; to 
Mr. Samuel Roads, Jr., the historian of Marblehead, 
for suggestions upon the early dialect of that place ; 
and last, but not least, to the Rev. Elias Nason for 
a store of facts and dates drawn from his delightful 
monograph upon the provincial Collector. 

E. L. B 


Boston, November, 1886. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Little Harbor.. ... 9 

II. The New Collector ..21 

III. Agnes.33 

IV. Job Redden. 49 

V. A Supper-Party ..59 

VI. A Pair of Stockings.69 

VII. Parson Holyoke in Consultation ... 79 

VIII. The Governor’s Wife.89 

IX. The Widow Ruck. 99 

X. “ Fine Feathers ”.110 

XI. Life at Tileston Street.118 

XII. The Harpsichord.127 

XIII. A Lesson in Reading.139 

XIV. An Old Friend and a Dish of Figs . . 152 

XV. Vanity Fair.161 

XVI. A Visitor.174 

XVII. The Portrait.186 

XVIII. Midnight Plotting.196 

XIX. Mars and Cupid.206 

XX. Ringing True.. . 219 

XXI. Running to Cover.229 






















viii 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER * PAGE 

XXII. A Side Issue.241 

XXIII. Counting the Cost.256 

XXIV. Trial and Verdict.268 

XXV. A Baronet.276 

XXVI. The Verdict at Little Harbor . . . 287 

XXVII. A Hunting-Party.302 

XXVIII. " The Brown Claim ”.317 

XXIX. London Town.332 

XXX. “Face to Face”.348 

XXXI. A Gay Capital.367 

XXXII. All Saints’ JDay.390 

XXXIII. Coals of Fire. 399 

XXXIV. Justice. .410 

ILLUSTRATIONS. 

Where Agnes Surriage may have lived . . Frontispiece 

Front Street, Marblehead.40 

Governor Shirley’s Mansion.92 

Faneuil Hall.130 

The Quincy Mansion.172 

The Province House.200 

Salutation Alley, Marblehead.238 

The Cove, Marblehead.. . . . . 328 





















AGNES SURRIAGE 


CHAPTER I. 

LITTLE HARBOR. 

S AILING in his little shallop along the rocky 
coast of Cape Ann, away back in 1631, the 
agent of the worshipful Matthew Cradock first noted 
the possibilities of a certain bold promontory and 
deeply indented shore, and hastened to establish 
himself there four years at least before the order of 
the Court of Assistants that “ there shalbe a Plan- 
tacion at Marblehead.” 

The result showed the worthy factor’s wisdom. 
Nature plainly meant it for a fishing station ; she had 
been beforehand with man, and made ready the way 
in uprearing the cliff and scooping out the rocky in¬ 
lets. Out-thrust aggressively into the bay, shoulder¬ 
ing off the waters of Salem Harbor on the left and 
those of its own miniature basin on the right, the 
rugged headland seemed to say to the wide universe, 
“ Make room for me and my coming brood! ” And 
what with the bracing air, the flinty soil, and the 
teeming waters, nowhere in the world could have 
been found a fitter abode for that notable brood. 


10 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


A witty and graphic little touch was that of the 
antiquary who compared the enclosing shores of the 
tiny harbor to “ a beckoning finger and a clenched 
fist.” The blunt headland well represents the vigor 
of the doubled fist, while the long straggling strip of 
land which forms the eastern side has far more the 
expression of a crooked finger than of a neck, — the 
name by which it has long been known. 

It matters little about the name, however; “the 
Neck” it is, and a sturdy, stubborn neck it has 
proved. Through unknown centuries it has with¬ 
stood the throttling clutch of the sea, which yet in 
some wrathful moment would seem to have despoiled 
it of a goodly carcanet; for strewn thickly about in 
the neighboring water, like unstrung jewels, lie a score 
of fair islets, to which the waggish natives have given 
uncouth and irrelevant names,such as “The Brimbles,” 
“ The Cat,” “ Satan,” “ Roaring Bull,” “ Great and 
Little Misery.” 

Wee as is the harbor, it is by no means shallow. 
“Marvalet est compost de 100 ou 200 maisons pe- 
scheurs ou il peut entrer de gros vaisseaux,” wrote 
a French spy fifty years after the foundation of the 
little town. And there great vessels might enter to 
this very hour, if there were any need. But now — 
alas for the cheating symbols ! — the trade and com¬ 
merce lured thither by the beckoning finger have 
long since eluded the grasp of the clenched fist; the 
day of its glory is gone, and nothing now seeks its 
tranquil haven save the dingy sail of a coasting 
schooner or the white-winged fleet of the Eastern 
Yacht Club. 


LITTLE HARBOR. 


IX 


Born here, man had no alternative but to take to 
the sea. On shore there was scarcely soil enough to 
raise a potato. “ Where do you bury your dead ? ” 
asked the astonished Whitefield on his first missionary 
visit to the town. A natural question. With such 
scant soil to spare for the quick, the dead must per¬ 
force have had short commons. Meagre enough in 
fact was the drapery vouchsafed for their last couch 
by the thrifty old-time sexton who tucked them in 
among the bowlders three or four deep, as the moul¬ 
dering of the early slumberers made room for the later. 
Yield him a late pity, that honest old grave-digger! 
Be assured he met with small sympathy in the flesh. 
Yet who shall say what knotty problems his grim 
gardening presented, or into what straits of despair 
a chance epidemic must have driven him. Nay, go 
to-day to the ancient God’s Acre whoever lists, and 
see for yourself from the huddled headstones the 
struggle he had to find comfortable beds for that long 
line of guests who were endlessly coming to his 
ghostly hostelry, to go no more out forever. 

As for the town, it was much after the pattern of 
the graveyard in point of order. Like barnacles, 
muscles, algae, — an indigenous growth,— the human 
habitations sprang as it seemed out of the bare rock, 
or along the precipitous face of the cliff, in rank dis¬ 
obedience of Heaven’s first law. Had an earthquake, 
at some forgotten time, roughly shaken the promon¬ 
tory, and rattled around the black, squat, little build¬ 
ings like dice in a box ? Or, haply, had a tidal wave 
swept over the rocks and played at harum-scarum ? 
Never was such a jumble of roofs and chimneys* 


12 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


never such maddening streets, of which one side 
often climbed the cliff to perch a cabin on its very 
brow, while the other dived into a gulch to drop a 
zigzag row of crazy cottages at its base. Down 
a hillside hither or yonder, a half-dozen houses 
tumble higgledy-piggledy in an architectural snarl. 
Here, there, and everywhere, upstarting as from an 
ambush, black gables peep out with an intelligent 
and rakish air, like jolly old tars rolling home in 
tipsy bliss from the tavern. Facing all points of 
the compass, the houses turn their backs or shoulders 
with a perverse intent upon the pursuing streets, 
which with labyrinthine twists wind in and out as if 
with the futile aim of binding together into a common 
weal the refractory buildings. 

Thus, begotten of Chance and Disorder, the town 
had at least one marked trait, — individuality. It 
was strictly of its own kind,—a mad, rollicking kind, 
you may say; an odd, whimsical, perverse, stubborn, 
independent kind, no doubt. Strangers might be 
puzzled, wags might make merry over it, — small 
matter ! Failing to find anything to admire in Mar¬ 
blehead, they nevertheless could not forget it. No 
visitor but carried away a distinct and lasting im¬ 
pression, even if it were no more savory than that 
of Captain Goelet, who in 1750 described it as “ a 
dirty, irregular, stincking place.” It boots not to 
dnquire what the dainty New Yorker could have 
expected of a fishing village where six hundred men 
and boys were employed catching cod, and where the 
wharves were covered with flakes on which myriads 
of salted fish lay curing in the sun. 


LITTLE HARBOR. 


13 


Born and brought up in it, the Marbleheaders 
were not troubled with the odor. Unlike that of 
Cologne, it was at least a simple, honest, unmixed 
stench. No doubt in time they came to regard that 
as natural which long experience had proved not 
unwholesome. For the rest, the town, with all its 
drawbacks, — dirt, odor, and ugliness combined, — 
was what they had made it: the houses were like 
shells that had grown about them; the crooked 
streets, in defiance of proof or demonstration, meas¬ 
ured the shortest practicable distance between any 
two given points. 

The lapse of a century sufficed to transform the 
bare rock of 1631 into one of the most thriving ports 
in the province. Now down in the little harbor were 
to be seen ships flying foreign colors, — ships from 
Holland or Portugal, queer-looking schooners from 
Havana or St. Kitt’s, which rumor said were unloaded 
in the night. Indeed, there had long been whispers 
of a trade less innocent than fish, involving contuma¬ 
cious evasion of certain fees and charges imposed by 
a number of obtuse and obstinate gentlemen across 
the water technically called the Government. 

Long ago vague rumors had reached the Lords of 
Trade that Marblehead was a smuggling port for 
Boston. Nor had it been forgotten that in days 
gone by Quelch the pirate was taken here, with 
seven of his crew, who, it was darkly whispered, 
had many friends and relatives among the hardy 
fishers of the Head. 

At home, the case was not much better; these 
fishers did not bear a specially good repute among 


14 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


their Puritan neighbors in Boston, Lynn, and Salem. 
One reverend chronicler speaks of them as “ a rude, 
swearing, fighting, drunken crew,” and a later his¬ 
torian of the cloth gives them a character no bet¬ 
ter. It is much to be feared that some of this 
is true ; they were rough diamonds, no doubt, with 
little in their lives or surroundings to make them 
otherwise. Profanity is the acknowledged vernac¬ 
ular of the sea; and where good spirits in plenty, 
free of all duty, were at hand, temperance would 
have been an unnatural virtue. 

But for all this, those proud pharisaical Bostoneers 
disdained not to accept their services at a pinch. 
When they wanted material for their navy, bold 
pilots, hardy crews for their snows and frigates, 
where did they find such stuff as in stanch old 
Marblehead ? 

Old Marblehead — older now by nearly a century 
and a half—still wears in the main the self-same as¬ 
pect. A new town, to be sure, — a town of factories 
and shoe-shops, — has sprung up alongside the old, 
as beside an ancient dame a bustling, antic grand¬ 
daughter, who decks herself in modern trim, practises 
latter-day graces, and echoes the tumult of the outer 
world, — who, in fine, is inoculated with the feverish 
unrest, the irreverence and agnosticism of another 
■age. 

Yonder the while sits the grandam on her rock 
by the sea, crooning over the past amid her rotting 
cod-flakes, the deserted ramparts of her old fort, and 
the moss-grown gravestones of her forgotten worthies. 
The briny flood has proved a conserving power* 


LITTLE HARBOR. 


15 


Here has been no change but that of disintegration, 
— a change slow-paced, solemn, and poetical. The 
self-same streets still writhe and twist about, like the 
avenging sea-serpent of the Grecian myth; the self¬ 
same houses, too, — here and there disfigured by mod¬ 
ern paint and patches, — still cling to their rocky 
foundations, awaiting the slow but inevitable ap¬ 
proach of the great Juggernaut of Trade which ha? 
already sounded their doom. 

For obvious reasons the earlier settlers clustered 
about a small inlet at the north end of the peninsula 
called “Little Harbor,” which for a long time was 
the centre of life and affairs. Perched thus upon the 
end of a rock and surrounded by water, they were 
peculiarly exposed to hostile attack from the sea. 
Harbor fortifications, indeed, everywhere throughout 
the province were in a sadly neglected state. But a 
change was coming. The espousal of the cause of 
Maria Theresa by the new Carteret ministry precipi¬ 
tated a war with France. Now at last the province 
took alarm ; and what with the martial energy of the 
new governor, and the daily expectation of a French 
descent upon the coast, the people were awakened to 
the necessity of taking some measures for the protec¬ 
tion of their seaports. Thus it happened that among 
'other points to be fortified, orders went out for the 
building of a fort at Marblehead. 

On the western slope of the hill upon which early 
in the spring of 1742 this fort was in process of 
building, stood a little, low-browed, unpainted cottage, 
quite apart from its neighbors. Lobster-pots, fishing- 


16 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


creels, refuse buckets, and broken oars scattered about 
the open door bespoke the occupation of the owner, 
who, as if to complete the picture, chanced to be sit¬ 
ting, one bright afternoon memorable to this narra¬ 
tive, on a low bench to the left of the door busily 
engaged in mending his fishing tackle. If he had 
been a whit less brawny, hirsute, and sunburnt, the 
exquisite effect of entire harmony with his surround¬ 
ings would have been wanting. If his homespun 
trousers, rough shirt, and battered hat had been a 
shade less greasy and weatherworn, they could not 
have had so exactly the value of a physical outgrowth, 
like the bark to a tree or the lichen to a rock. 

Outspread before him was a busy and picturesque 
scene. It was high tide in the little cove; several 
shallops lay already at their moorings quietly un¬ 
loading their fish, while two or three heavily laden 
ketches were tacking up before the brisk off-shore 
breeze to make the anchorage. In the immediate fore¬ 
ground the slope from the door down to the water¬ 
side was covered with rows of fish-flakes, on which 
were spread out the results of the last trip to “ the 
Banks.” Beyond, the little beach was swarming 
with the life of the village. It was the busiest hour 
of the day. The men were at work receiving and 
disposing of the incoming haul, the women chatting 
among the flakes, piling up the half-cured fish to be 
covered for the night, while children romped with 
screams and laughter about the narrow sands. Across 
the cove, half way up the opposite hill, stuck like a 
limpet on the rock, was the quaint little Fountain 
Inn with its flourishing orchard and its scanty strip 


LITTLE HARBOR. 


IT 


of greensward sloping downward toward the cliff; 
while high up above all, on the very brow of the hill, 
stood the old graveyard with its fringe of rude head¬ 
stones sharply outlined against the yellow evening 
sky. 

The fisherman, glancing up now and then from 
his task, regarded the scene with the look of one 
long familiar with its every detail. From his ab¬ 
sorbed air and motionless lips, one would not have 
suspected that he was engaged in conversation; but 
in fact he was from time to time grunting an in- 
articulated assent or dissent, as the case required, to 
some female loquacity from within. A twice-repeated 
question, however, having failed of answer, the wo¬ 
man at length came to the door. No fitter helpmeet 
for the man could have been imagined. Her weather¬ 
beaten skin bore the marks of exposure, and her 
stalwart arms, of toil as severe as his own. Other¬ 
wise, nothing but the expression of motherliness in 
her common face and slouchy figure distinguished 
her from the typical fishwife. Seating herself clum¬ 
sily in the doorway with a long-drawn sigh of relief, 
she repeated her question: — 

“ Wher’s the young uns, oi say ? ” 

The fisherman simply pointed over his shoulder, 
without speaking. 

“ Oi worrnt—oi worrnt ye, the for-rt; ther’ll be 
nothin’ but th’ for-rt heerd o’ now. D’ ye see how 
they stor-rted at it this mor-rnin’ ? Ther’ they wor, 
at th’ crack o’ dawn, an ar-rmy o’ shov’lers ’n’ neg- 
gers, ’n’ th’ whole town at the’r heels. Say what ye 
will, oi don’ loike th’ tho’t o’ it. It ’a fur th’ French- 
2 


18 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ers, the’ say. What do th’ Frenchers want o’ ns ? 
They’d never foind us, nutlier, ’f we kep’ dor-rk ’n’ 
moinded our own business ; but clap a lot o’ bloody- 
moinded dragoons in ther’ for-rt, to bang away at 
ev’ry sail passin’, no motter-r who’s hit, ’t ’ll modden 
th’ Frenchers, oi say, ’n’ th’ll foire back.” 

44 Loike eno’.” 

44 4 Loike eno’! ’ ’n’ then what ? The dragoons th’ll 
be safe ’n’ sound behoind the’r for-rt; but what’s to 
hinder-r a ball cornin’ down upon us ? ” 

44 Nothin’, ’t oi see.” 

44 An’ ther ain’t nothin’, nuther, — ’n’ then what ? 
D’ ye know th’ soize o’ ’em, them the’r cannon-shot ? 
The soize o’ yer head, oi’m told, ’n’ gretter too ; 
they’d bring down th’ house over our heads, ’n’ kill 
us all, beloike.” 

44 4 Beloike ! ’ ” 

44 What ’re we stayin’ here fur, then ? Out o’t wi’ 
ye, whoile ther’s toime! ” 

44 Wher’ to?” 

44 What matters ? Over yonder, in th’ nex’ cove 
beyont th’ berrin’-groun’! ” 

44 Toime eno’t’ run when yer hor-rt.” 

44 No, it’s not nuther, no toime ’t all t’ run when 
yer hor-rt — ” 

44 Ye ’ll git wor-rnin’, never fear! ” 

44 Yes; ’n’ die o’ fright fir-rst, waitin’ ’n’ listenin’, 
wi’ yer her-rt atween yer teeth ! Oi don’ loike it, oi 
say; ’n’ oi’m free to speak my moind, Ed Surriage.” 

She rose as she concluded, and stepping down the 
rude flags, looked back over the hill with an anxious 
eye. 


LITTLE HARBOR. 


19 


“A plague on ’em ! Wher’ be they? Tom, Moll, 
oi say, Hugh, come home wi’ ye! ” 

“ Don’ bother ; Ag ’ll bring ’em! ” 

“ Ag ’ll bring no young uns home to-night; she’s 
gone to the tar-rvern.” 

“ T’ th’ Funtin ? What’s goin’ on ? ” 

“All along o’ this,” nodding toward the hill; 
“ foremen ’n’ ungineers ’n’ them loike, — house full, 
’n’ them shor-rt-honded. The old negger cook’s dead ; 
Goody Salkins can’t budge wi’ th’ ague; ’n’ so th’ 
londlar-rd he come over fur Ag.” 

“ Humph! ” 

“ ’N’ he said ’f she turns out hondy, he’s loike t<s 
need her whoile thet ther’ holds out.” 

“ She’s nothin’ but a young un yet.” 

“ She’s fifteen a month ago ; ’n’ it’s toime she 
took her tur-rn. She ’ll be gettin’ her meat ’n’ drink, 
*n’ a foive-pun’ note at th’ end o’ th’ year. She ’ll be 
better off ther’, ’n’ we ha’ our bonds full wi’ th’ 
others, never fear. Here, now, comes Job Redden, 
lookin’ fur Ag. Evenin’, Job ; d’ ye see my young 
uns up ther’?” 

The person addressed was a tall, stalwart young 
man, with a grave and rather heavy face, who came 
around the corner of the house, from the direction of 
the hill. 

“ Not to take note on, oi did n’t, Goody Surriage; 
oi wor lookin’ fur Ag.” 

“ She’s helpin’ over yonder.” 

“ Th’ Funtin ? ” 

“Ay; she’s loike to be ther’ awhoile ; the’r© 
shor-rt-honded these days.” 


20 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


The young man turned and looked towards the 
little inn with a hesitating air. 

“Ye ’ll get a wor-rd wi’ her when the wor-rk ’s 
done yonder, ’f ye loike to take a tur-rn that way.” 

“ Oi moight take it on the starboard tack, crossin* 
the sands,” he muttered, moving awkwardly away. 

“ ’Tis a queer thing, now, ain’t it, ’t Ag cares not 
a straw for him, ’n’ he tryin’ to keep comp’ny wi’ 
her in dead earnest?” said the good dame reflec¬ 
tively, as she watched the lumbering youth across 
the sands. 


CHAPTER II. 


THE NEW COLLECTOR. 

i 

T HE old “Bunch of Grapes” tavern in Boston 
was ablaze with light. From the front win¬ 
dows it streamed across King’s Street in a broad 
white ribbon and lit up with a feeble glare the eastern 
gable of the Town House. Something unusual was 
astir in the old hostelry. Guests were arriving in 
chairs and chaises; and the heavy door swinging open 
from time to time to admit them, showed in vivid 
relief against the outer blackness the wistful faces of 
a knot of idlers hanging about the entrance, straining 
their ears to catch a stray word from the hum of 
jocund voices within, and sniffing with eager noses 
the savory odors from the kitchen. 

Within, there was an air of bustle and preparation. 
Mine host, Joshua Barker, instead of lolling about the 
tap-room, as was his habit, to receive his guests, was 
now flying back and forth from the kitchen to the 
smoke-blackened, oak-panelled supper-room, sharply 
chiding the servants and giving careful attention to 
every detail of the coming feast with the anxious air 
of a man who has a reputation to sustain. 

“ See ye have on the right napery, — the dambrod 
pattern, the best Scotch cloths; and make haste wi’ 
ye ! Look you to the wines, Hugh! Have no lack ; 


22 


AGNES SUER I AGE . 


the Sack first, then the Madeira, — the old brand out 
of the corner bin, mind ye ! Port as much as they 
want; the best French brandy, a half-dozen bottles. 
And give me due warning when they ’re coming to 
the punch; I have it brewing. Ha’ plenty o’ fresh, 
bottles always ready, but don’t press the matter ! — a 
set o’ good fellows ’ll drink more if they ’re not urgeu. 
What’s the caster doing there, blockhead ? See that 
the cruets are full. Straighten the platter yonder, 

Jack; an’ look, — look here at the marks o’ yer d-d 

greasy fingers on the glass! Ye ’ll ruin my reputa¬ 
tion, ye dirty sloven. Here, you, Gregory, run tell 
the cook to spit the grouse ; and bid him, too, to 
keep the roast basted, and see he boils not the fowls 
to rags. Get on yer aprons now, ye sluggards, ’n’ 
hark ye ha’ yer locks in order ’n’ yer hands clean! 
Stay! Call ye the table ready, and no anchovy sauce 
on the board, nor the pickled walnuts either? Dick, 
see you that the clouted cream is cold for the sweet¬ 
meats ! There goes the hour now; go, bid the cook 
dish and serve, and get ye to your places! I ’ll an¬ 
nounce the supper myself.” 

Hastily adjusting his dress as he loitered through 
the narrow passage-way, and exchanging with profes¬ 
sional skill the flustered and anxious look of the 
kitchen for his practised publican smile, he flung 
open the door of the parlor with an obsequious bow! 
and a flourish of his fat hands, crying : — 

“ Supper is on the board, gentlemen! ” 

And well might honest Joshua bow and scrape; 
for, gathered in his little low-studded fore-room, seated 
in the broad window-seats, basking before the crack- 



THE NEW COLLECTOR. 


23 


ling fire, or scuffling about on the sanded floor, were 
some of the best folks in town,— a picturesque and 
notable company, with very long heads under their 
snowy wigs, and stout hearts under their velvet coats 
and waistcoats of flowered brocade. 

I There was a lull in the conversation on the land¬ 
lord’s announcement, and all presently filed out two 
by two in the wake of the waddling host, who ushered 
them forth, not to an arid expanse of table-cloth and 
napkins, but to the veritable supper itself, ready and 
smoking on the board. Finding their places after a 
little bustle, the company remained standing until 
the master of ceremonies had handed to the seat on his 
right the young stranger in whose honor the feast 
was given. The mere eating lasted an hour or more, 
when at last the cloth was removed and the company 
settled back for a general recognition of each other 
and the purpose of their meeting. 

“ And now,” said the president, after the formal 
toasts to the King and the Governor had been duly 
honored, “ I give you the guest of the evening. I 
know you will join me in tendering him a hearty wel¬ 
come to Boston, where I hope he may find in the 
novelty of this rude frontier life some compensation 
for the gay and brilliant society he has left behind.” 

‘ The stranger rose. He was a young Englishman 
in the bloom of youth; no ’prentice-made creature o* 
fiction, either, but a veritable son of Adam, whom 
History claims as her own, and whom Art, as if to keep 
the finger of Romance quite out of the pie, has handed 
down to posterity in a portrait thus described by a 
sober historian: “A refined and noble cast of features, 


24 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


with a peculiarly pensive and melancholy expression. 
The countenance and dress indicate a certain inde¬ 
finable sweetness of temper and delicacy of taste.” 
History, however, says nothing about the ease and 
grace of manner with which he now acknowledged 
Mr. Cushing’s toast and the accompanying applause. ; 
/ “ Gentlemen,” he said, bowing, “ you do me great 
honor. I confess I was not at all prepared for the 
elegance of the hospitality or the cordiality of the 
greeting with which I have been met. And I trust 
it is not presumption in me to add, that among the 
smiling and friendly faces around me I detect such 
good material for companionship that I am not likely 
long to miss that left behind. Gentlemen, I have 
the honor of giving you the glory and prosperity of 
Boston! ” 

This was greeted with a roar of applause, and the 
whole company drank the toast standing. 

“’Tismeet now,” continued the president, draw¬ 
ing a note from his pocket, “although our gathering 
here is simply to give an informal welcome to Mr. 
Frankland, that I should express to you the regrets 
of his Excellency at not being able to be present.” 

44 His Excellency is most kind,” returned Frank¬ 
land after the reading of the note ; “ and if I may be 
permitted to name the next toast — ” 

“ Go on I Go on! ” chorused the table. 

“ It will be William Shirley, the man — not the 
governor.” 

“ ’T is a pity,” said Mr. Cradock, who sat near by, 

44 his Excellency should miss such a tribute from his 
rival.” 


THE NEW COLLECTOR. 25 

Frankland turned an inquiring look upon the 
speaker, who added, smiling: — 

“ Oh, we have heard a whisper of that matter 
over here.” 

“ May one ask what matter is that ? ” inquired 
Overing. 

“ How Divine Providence saved your province 
from a dire calamity,” returned Frankland, laughing. 

“ It hath saved us from so many,” said Mr. 
Quincy, “ that’t is blind guessing — ” 

“Nay, you shall not tempt me to blab State 
secrets.” 

“What is already so far let slip cannot be kept 
close,” urged Mr. Wendell; “besides, we are all safe 
here.” 

“ Ay, let us have it, sir,” pleaded Mr. Vassall, 
drawing up his chair to more confidential proximity. 

“ ’T is nothing,” began Frankland, warmed to the 
point of incaution by the wine already drunk; “but, 
under the rose, I don’t mind telling you, for ’t is 
rather a good joke after all.” 

“ Stay ! not over an empty bottle,” interposed the 
chairman. 

“1 see I am not to lack encouragement,” returned 
the Englishman, sipping his replenished glass ; “ but, 
touching this story you are waiting for, I hardly know 
how to begin. The long and the short of it is, my 
dear friends, you had a narrow escape of having for 
your governor no less a person than”—he paused 
and reddened with a sudden touch of diffidence — 
“ your very obedient, humble servant.” 

An exclamation of surprise ran around the table. 


26 


AGNES SURE I AGE. 


“ As a mere makeshift, of course,’* he hastened to 
add, deprecatingly. “ Pray do not suppose I have 
the vanity to flatter myself it was for any fitness; 
but you must know the Government was in a sad 
quandary. Such a pother had been made in ousting 
the former incumbent, Mr. — ” 

“ Belcher,” suggested Vassall. 

44 And so many idle scandals had been started 
about his opposition to the Land Bank, and his con- 
spiracy with my good friend Mr. Commissary Price-, 
and what not, that— Why, to tell you the plain 
truth, gentlemen, there was rather a dearth of candi¬ 
dates for the place.” 

A grim smile illuminated for a moment Mr. 
Quincy’s face, and he turned to make an aside re¬ 
mark to his neighbor Wendell, which politeness 
perhaps repressed. 

“ Drolly enough,” continued Mr. Frankland, 44 it 
chanced that Mrs. Shirley, who, as you all know, is 
a vastly clever woman, and with considerable family 
influence too, was in London just at the moment to 
secure for her husband a certain position which — ” 

44 Is now much more acceptably filled,” blurted 
out Overing. 

44 Tut, tut; that’s carrying politeness too far, and 
smacks of treason besides. No, no; the simple 
truth is, I was first in the field and knew nothing of 
Madam Frances’s hunt until I was committed as a 
candidate; and then, as I was there in person, and 
moreover had strong backing at Court, why, the up¬ 
shot of it was, gentlemen, you owe it to me that you 
have so able and excellent a governor.” 


THE NEW COLLECTOR. 


27 


“ Yes, yes; but no doubt his Excellency would 
have preferred the Collectorship,” said some one. 

“And for very substantial reasons,” added an¬ 
other. 

“ As well enough he might, with his big brood 
of children,” remarked Mr. Hutchinson, gravely. 
“ But to change the subject for a moment; pray 
tell us, sir, — you who are so fresh from the centre 
of affairs, — what are the prospects for the coming 
session ? ” 

“ Why, sir, for the moment the Whigs are under. 
*T was plain enough what would happen when I left 
home. The change, as you know, took place during 
my transit hither. For myself, as I was appointed 
by the old administration, I am under no obligation 
to the new. They are welcome to my humble post 
here as soon as they choose to demand it. Meantime 
I make bold to say, gentlemen, that in my opin¬ 
ion this compromise cabinet will hardly survive its 
organization.” 

“ Why not ? ” asked Cushing, bluntly. 

“ It has no fibre, no adhesiveness; ’t will go to 
pieces like a rope of sand the moment the reason for 
its feeble being ceases.” 

“And that was opposition to Walpole, I suppose,” 
suggested Hutchinson, shrewdly. 

“ Nothing else ; by that one slender thread are 
ibound all the jarring factions of the Coalition, — 
patriots (so called), Jacobites, and Tories. ’T was 
all well enough so long as they were of like mind and 
going the same way; but once let them begin — as 
they soon must — to scratch and claw each other, and 
how long, think you, will it hold ? w 


28 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ It has held long enough already to do irreparao,u 
mischief,” said Mr. Quincy, significantly. 

“ You mean the overthrow of Sir Robert ? ” 

Quincy simply nodded. Frankland took the hint 
directly ; the discussion was plainly ill-timed, and 
he had been indiscreet. He sipped his wine and 
adroitly restored the social tone to the meeting by 
a change of subject. 

“ But a truce to politics, gentlemen. There is one 
toast we have not yet honored, and I take the blame 
to myself.” 

“ Fill up! Fill up! ” The word flew around the 
table as the bottle passed from hand to hand. 

“ Now,” said the president, lifting his replenished 
glass, “ for your toast, Mr. Frankland.” 

“ Here, then, is to the ladies! ” 

“ Hear! Hear ! ” 

“The ladies of Boston, both young and old! if 
they prove but half as amiable as their fathers and 
brothers, I shall have found here in the wilderness 
The New Atlantis.” 

“ Bravo! ” cried the chairman, as all responded to 
the toast; “ and now which of all you tuneful gen¬ 
tlemen is to favor us with a song ? Come, Mr. 
Whalley, you look obliging! ” 

The young gentleman called upon, after due hem¬ 
ming and hawing, rattled off to a taking little air the 
following words: — 

“ Cease your funning; 

Force or cunning 
Never shall my heart trepan. 

All these sallies 
Are but malice 
To seduce my constant man. 


THE NEW COLLECTOR . 


29 


’T is most certain 
By their flirting 
Women oft have envy shown; 

Pleased to ruin 
Others’ wooing, 

Never happy in their own.” 

“Capital!” cried Frankland, keeping time with a 
spoon upon the rim of his glass. “ I never thought to 
have heard the 1 Beggar’s Opera ’ so far from home.” 

“ You know it, then?” asked the singer. 

“ Yes; and knew its author too, when he was in 
the flesh. Lucky man ! he made fame and for¬ 
tune out of the piece, and well he deserved all, 

— the most fascinating, engaging creature in the 
world. Old Dean Swift, savage as he is, doted 
on him, and Pope too, who is a bunch of venom 
himself. But to my thinking, a song should have 
a chorus — ” 

“ A chorus! A chorus! ” echoed the company. 

“ Nay; but, gentlemen — ” 

“ Fairly caught, Mr. Frankland,” laughed the presi 
dent; “ there’s no escape for you! ” 

“ Well, then, I ’ll try — ’t will be but a trial, mind! 

— a bit of a ballad by Harry Fielding, whose health 
I give you here and now; a man crammed with gen¬ 
ius, one of the first wits of the age, and, I am proud 
to say, my very good friend.” 

Clearing his throat after the toast had been hon¬ 
ored, the young gentleman in a remarkably tuneful 
voice favored the company with the spirited old 
ballad: — 


30 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ The dusky night rides down the sky 
And ushers in the morn; 

The hounds all join in a glorious cry, 
The hounds all join in a glorious cry, 
The huntsman winds his horn, 

The huntsman winds his horn.” 


The company lustily joined in the chorus at 
the end of every stanza, until the very rafters 
rung. 

“ Sh-h! Listen! ” cried some one, holding up his 
finger. 

“ One — o-n-e — o-n-e o’-cl-o-c-k ; a fair clear 
night, and all’s wel-1-1-1! ” came echoing down the 
silent street. 

“ ‘ One ! ’ Humph ! the night wears on,” said the 
president. “ ’T is time for the punch. Where’s 
Barker ? ” 

‘‘Barker — Barker! ” roared the whole table. 

“ Here, here, gentlemen! ” 

“ The arrack! ” 

“ All ready; ready and waiting, gentlemen,” an¬ 
swered the watchful landlord. “ You shall have it in 
a twinkling.” 

As good as his word, the worthy Joshua di¬ 
rectly reappeared with a huge bowl of fragrant 
punch, followed by a servant with a tray of fresh 
glasses. 

Hereupon the elder and more sedate part of the 
company, after due exchange of compliments, pru¬ 
dently withdrew, and the younger and more reckless 
gave themselves up to unrestrained revelry. Toasts 


THE NEW COLLECTOR. 


31 


and songs followed in unnoted succession, until some 
one with stentorian voice struck up an old English 
air, the chorus of which so captivated the company 
that the singer was not allowed to get beyond the 
first stanza: — 

“ In smiling Bacchus’ joys I ’ll roll, 

Deny no pleasure to my soul 1 

Let Bacchus’ health round briskly move, 

For Bacchus is a friend to Love! 

And he that will this health deny, 

Down among the dead men let him lie! ” 

Great variety was given to the rendering of the 
chorus; thus (pianissimo), “ Down among the dead 
men, down among the dead men. Down — down 
(crescendo), down — down (fortissimo) among the 
dead men let him lie ! ” 

Inspired by the insidious arrack, they roared out 
this refrain again and again, hoarsely, shrilly, in tune 
and out of tune, but with ever increasing vigor as 
they pounded the table with their broken glasses, 
as they rose and marched about it, as they boozily 
embraced each other, vowing eternal esteem to 
Mr. Frankland, welcoming him to Boston, assuring 
him he was the best collector ever heard of in his¬ 
tory, etc. 

And so forth they went with uncertain steps into 
the sober, sleeping town, each preceded by a servant 
with a lantern, waking the shocked echoes of the 
silent streets with untimely revelry. 

Nay, three or four of the younger and more hos¬ 
pitable insisted upon seeing their guest home to his 


32 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


lodgings across the Mill-creek, making the purlieus of 
North Square ring, as they returned, with the baccha¬ 
nalian strains of 

“ Down — down — down — 

Down among the dead men let him lieD* 


CHAPTER III. 


AGNES. 

N EXT morning, as it chanced, Mr. Commissary 
Price started out on a round of calls. They 
were not to be parochial calls, for his brows were 
knitted, and his lips pregnant with a purely mundane 
purpose. Unlucky in finding his wealthy parishioner 
Mr. Peter Faneuil “not at home,” and his Excel¬ 
lency the Governor “ engaged with some New York 
commissioners on military affairs,” he paused a mo¬ 
ment coming down the Province House steps and 
consulted a little memorandum which he drew from 
his pocket. 

“No ; yes — why not ?” he muttered, and button¬ 
ing his cassock snugly about him, proceeded around 
into Queen Street, and dropped in at the Custom 
House. 

Thf young collector, with his fresh English com¬ 
plexion a little blanched from last night’s dissipation, 
was already seated at his desk busily poring over a 
rude map of the provincial seaboard. He greeted his 
visitor with a heartiness that showed the two were 
already friends. 

“ Good! I’m glad to see that,’’ cried the Commis¬ 
sary, pointing to the map. “ Studying the geography 
of your new home, I suppose ? ” 

3 


34 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


44 Yes. I was looking up the two or three places I am 
like to have business relations with,” returned Frank- 
land, tossing down the map and placing a chair. 

“ Egad! I wish our friends at home would follow 
your example. As it is, they’ve a clearer notion of 
purgatory than of the colonies. But how are you 
coming on in your new berth here ? ” asked the Com¬ 
missary, settling himself for a talk. 

44 Swimmingly, thus far,” answered the Collector, 
proceeding naturally enough with a description of the 
banquet given him by the merchants the night before. 
The note of enthusiasm in his account evidently 
grated on the elder’s ear. 

44 Ay, ay ; no doubt,” he said testily. 44 They ’re 
well enough so long as they ’re suffered to go their own 
gait; but draw the rein on them never so little, and a 
more cantankerous set was never begotten.” 

44 But,” protested the Collector, 44 1 never had hand¬ 
somer treatment in my life, I give you my word.” 

44 To be sure; they ’re on their good behavior for 
the nonce. After scheming and plotting and wrang¬ 
ling for months, they’ve gained their point, and got 
poor Belcher and the old Collector ousted. Now 
you and his Excellency come in — a new administra¬ 
tion — as a sop thrown to this snarling Puritan Cer¬ 
berus, and no wonder he wags his tail.” 

44 Yes, but’tis not alone the official compliment; 
’t is the cordiality which — ” 

44 Poh, poh ! why should n’t they be cordial ? 
They’ve drawn a prize. Instead of a vulgar and 
crabbed old martinet, who would have cracked the 
official whip over them as they deserve, they have 


AGNES . 


35 


secured for their Collector a young man of rank, 
wealth, talents, — to say nothing of good looks, good 
breeding — ” 

“ Hold, hold! I cry you mercy! ” 

“Fudge! I wouldn’t condescend to bandy compli¬ 
ments ; I merely state the case. Hang ’em! I say ; 
they deserve no such good luck. You ’re a pearl, my 
dear sir, — however little you suspect it, — cast before 
swine.” 

“ Ah, well! I suppose you have grievances to for¬ 
give ; but for me, so loug as they receive me in this 
humor I cannot but show myself friendly.” 

“ Oh, as friendly as you like; but,” continued the 
Commissary, nodding his head emphatically, and tap¬ 
ping Frankland on the knee, as if to mark each word 
staccato, “have a care! Do not expect this state of 
things to last. Run counter to them once, and 
you ’ll find these same fair-spoken merchants of Bos¬ 
ton the most sly, cunning, treacherous, cavilling set 
of devils on the face of the earth.” 

“Very well; I’ll wait for developments. Mean¬ 
time, there is the law, which we must both obey. I am 
sent here as his Majesty’s Collector of the Customs, 
and they must know I’m bound to do my duty.” 

Squinting up his cool eyes, the astute clergyman 
studied his young friend’s face for a moment, and then 
broke into a low, cynical laugh, none the less effective 
that it was entirely forced. 

“You’d better send home, then, for a man-of-war 
and a regiment of red-coats as soon as may be.” 

“ So I will, when I need them,” returned Frankland, 
rather dryly. 


36 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Hark ye, my dear sir,” persisted the Commissary, 
disregarding the tone; “ you come out here to this 
wild desert consigned to my spiritual care. I adopt 
you as a friend. My interest in you will not suffer 
itself to be narrowed down to the mere saving of 
your soul. I must look out for your worldly wel¬ 
fare. Let us be frank, then. You say — and forgive 
me for thinking you really believe it — that you ’re 
sent hither to collect his Majesty’s Customs; I say— 
and I know what I’m talking about too—you’re 
Bent to do nothing of the sort! ” 

“ Hoity-toity! Upon my word, sir — ” 

“ Tut, tut! You are never such a babe in arms as 
you would have one think. You have come hither 
precisely as your predecessors did, — to collect what 
you can get, which, if it be a moiety of what’s due, 
you may have my new wig to stuff a footstool.” 

“ Why,” confessed the young official, unwilling on 
the one hand to be thought unsophisticated, and on 
the other fearful of being too confidential with his 
outspoken visitor, “I — I have heard hints of such 
a state of affairs ; but — ” 

“ ‘Hints ’! ’t is whispering business no longer. You 
will see constant and impudent evasion of the law 
going on under your very nose, which, if you are 
shrewd, and wish to be successful in your office, 
you will affect not to notice.” 

“ Better make known at once, then, that violations 
of the law will be disregarded.” 

“ Not at all; for where they become too flagrant 
to be winked at, you must wake up and come down 
on ’em; but to the covert, systematic, and organized 


AGNES . 


87 


thieving of these respectable meeting-house saints 
you must, I charge you, be as blind as a bat. Mean¬ 
time, fail not to go to their banquets, eat theij 
dinners, drink their wines, and make love to theix 
daughters.” 

“ Ah,” exclaimed Frankland, in a tone of relief for 
a promised change of subject, “I seem not likely 
to be allowed to show my accomplishments in that 
direction.” 

“ Never fear! Never fear! that will come in time ; 
but you, that have been used to the gay and oblig¬ 
ing beauties of the court and metropolis, will not 
find these prudish misses much to your mind, I 
fancy.” 

“Who knows?” exclaimed the young man, laugh¬ 
ing, as his visitor rose to go. “ One may meet his 
fate anywhere.” 

“ Meantime,” continued the Commissary, carefully 
fitting on his gloves, “ here’s a final bit of advice for 
you. If you want at once to satisfy the Home Gov¬ 
ernment of your zeal, and make capital with the wor¬ 
thy Bosfconeers, let your first work be to break up 
these nests of pirates and smugglers that infest the 
coast. They ’re safe prey, — this vulgar sort; they 
have no social standing, go to no prayer-meetings, 
own no pews. By the bye, speaking of pews,” he 
continued, as if with a sudden suggestion, “ let me 
advise you to get out of that one of yours.” 

“ Why so ? ” asked Frankland, curiously. 

“Wait until the next storm and you’ll have no 
occasion to ask. There’s a leak just above you in 
the roof you may see daylight through.” 


38 


AGNES SURRIAGB. 


“ Why, then I ’ll call upon the vestrymen to stop 
it.” 

“ ‘ Stop it *! My dear sir, where’s the use of stop¬ 
ping one hole in a sieve ? It’s all of a piece, — the 
whole building ; ’t is nothing but a shell. You should 
be with me in the chancel of a rainy day; I stand in 
a perfect shower.” 

“ Why, then, do they not pull down the old church 
and build a new one ? ” 

“ Just what I’ve tired myself out asking the vestry¬ 
men. Egad! they take it as a kind of riddle, a 
pleasantry on my part, to be answered b} r a quip 
or a quirk, as Heaven sends them wit. Meantime 
the old trap needs but a breath of encourage¬ 
ment from a northeast gale to tumble about their 
ears.” 

“ But there are men of substance enough in the 
congregation.” 

“ Indeed are there ! ” 

“Then why do they not — ” 

“ ‘ Why ? * Because they ’re afraid of seeming too 
officious, mind you, in the Lord’s business. I’m 
tempted to tuck an extra clause into the litany,— 
4 From too much reverence, good Lord, deliver us,’ — 
as I now add a tag to my daily prayer, that some brisk 
young fellow will come along with something be¬ 
sides lip-zeal for the Church, to shame these laggards 
into moving in the matter. Look at those stiff-necked 
Puritans! See how they squander money on their 
uncouth meeting-houses, while the true Church — 
the real old apostolic established Church — is repre¬ 
sented in this rich and flourishing town by a rotten 


AGNES. 89 

old shed that would n’t afford fit shelter for cattle. 
’T is a crying scandal! ” 

“’Tis, sir; ’tis indeed!” cried Frankland, warmly 
“ I ’m shocked at such apathy. I’m but a new¬ 
comer ; but if you think I could do anything — ” 

“ ‘Do anything! cried the watchful Commissary, 
catching at the suggestion. “ Once get a subscription 
paper started, with a round sum at the head, and the 
thing is done. I ’ll take good care, never fear, that 
the project does not perish still-born ; they dare not 
hold back when once the ball’s set rolling.” 

“ Count on me, then; 1 ’ll move in the matter at 
once.” 

“ And I — trust me ! — will requite your pains. 
You shall be chosen of the board, and” — searching 
his mind for a more tempting inducement — “I ’ll 
secure you the snuggest dowry in the province for a 
■snatch.” 

“ Make haste,” said Frankland, laughing and 
shaking hands, “ or I may content myself with some 
humbler prize.” 

The Commissary went away with relaxed lip and 
forehead, as well he might after having neatly de¬ 
spatched a delicate business. The Collector mean¬ 
while, quite unsuspicious of having been dexterously 
used to further one of his parson’s pet projects, occu¬ 
pied himself with a suggestion let drop by the latter, 
which, being confirmatory of certain hints from other 
sources, seemed worthy attention. 

Returning with renewed interest to the study of 
his map, he consulted, in connection with it, certain 
official reports which he drew from the files In his 


40 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


office. As a result of this study, prompted perhaps 
in the first instance by the Commissary’s suggestion, 
he set out, several days afterwards, upon a journey 
along the northern shore of the bay. Chief upon his 
list of places to be visited, as it chanced, was the 
thriving little port of Marblehead. 

It was towards sundown on a fine day in June 
that he went riding into the town. Mounted on a 
blooded horse, attended by a servant in livery, and 
dressed after the latest London fashion, he naturally 
created a sensation. Diving unsuspectingly into the 
blind labyrinth of crooked streets, and coming out, 
after a roundabout course of twenty minutes or 
more, at the exact point of starting, he stopped, 
and mentally rehearsed several stock phrases of 
profanity. 

“Here, my lad,” he cried to a ragged boy who 
stood regarding him in goggle-eyed astonishment 
from a neighboring corner, “ can you tell me the 
way to the inn?” 

“ Yeah, can oi; g’ down ther’ by Skipper-r Fen¬ 
nel’s, ’n’ go off on th’ lorboard tack till ye come to 
Moll Pitcher’s; V ther’ ye ’ll see ’t stret to lee¬ 
ward.” 

Tossing the amazed urchin a shilling, Frankland 
followed the given directions, and soon drew up 
in front of a squat, unpainted, wooden building 
overlooking the water. On a swinging sign above 
the door he read in faded letters the name of the 
little hostelry. 

“ ‘ The Fountain I ’ ” he exclaimed, smiling. “ O 
haunt of the muses, refuge of wits, and home of the 



FRONT ST., MARBLEHEAD 





















■f 














# 


•> ■ 









♦ 






















AGNES. 


41 


convivial and immortal Kit-Kats! has your fame in¬ 
deed reached across the broad Atlantic and taken root 
in this out-of-the-way corner ? ’T is a good omen, 
though,” he concluded, throwing the rein to his ser¬ 
vant and slipping lightly to the ground. “ Fate 
must have guided my steps to this namesake of my 
old London retreat.” 

Turning by chance upon the doorstep, he uttered 
an exclamation at the miraculous beauty of the out¬ 
look. Just below him nestled the tiny inlet of Little 
Harbor, shut in by the rocky spur on which stood 
the uncompleted fort. Beyond lay the larger harbor 
with its “ beckoning finger; ” while, outlying all, 
spread the peaceful waters of the bay, coruscating 
with the sunset splendor tossed back and forth from 
sea to sky. Near and far, Nature had been lavish. 
The shabby little inn was but the foil in a picture. 
Massed against it on the right like drifted snow¬ 
banks, swung the top-heavy branches of an apple- 
orchard, now laden with June blossoms. In front, a 
little greensward spangled with dandelions stretched 
away to the rocks. 

With a sensuous sigh, as if oppressed with such a 
feast of beauty, Frankland at length turned and 
entered the house. Inside, it was after the common 
pattern : a broad, low-studded hall, with doors open¬ 
ing to the right upon a common tap-room, and to the 
left upon a small fore-room roughly fitted with heavy 
oaken furniture. 

Peeping into either room without finding anybody, 
the traveller at last called out to a servant-maid on 
her knees scrubbing the stairs : — 


42 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Tell me, my good lass, where are the people of 
the house ? ” 

Turning and catching a glimpse of the speaker, 
the girl rose, and gazed at him in dumb amazement. 

“What’s the matter with the girl? Don’t you 
hear me?” repeated the young man, going nearer. 
“ Where is the landlord, I say ? ” he cried, facing her 
for the first time. 

Now, in turn, he paused, slowly exhaling a sus¬ 
pended breath. The two stood mutely face to face, 
each a distinct revelation to the other. The over¬ 
awed maiden stared with Miranda-like wonder at 
this being of another order, with his white, jewelled 
hands, his rich dress, and — most astounding and 
superhuman of all — his air of high breeding and 
refinement. Frankland, on his part, discovered with 
scarcely less amazement in the dirty and ill-condi¬ 
tioned kitchen-wench one of the most striking and 
perfect types of female beauty he had ever beheld, — 
a figure just budding into womanhood, combining the 
vigor and suppleness of perfect health with a subtle 
grace which lurked in every muscle and sinew, from 
the dishevelled head to the naked feet and ankles, 
all splashed as they were with foul water from the 
slop-bucket; a face of historic beauty, lighted up by 
bright, full, black eyes instinct with passion, gazing 
forth with ingenuous candor from the tangled masses 
of dark hair which overhung her low forehead. 

In a softer tone the young man repeated his 
question. 

“ ‘ The londlar-rd’! ” echoed the girl, in a rich alto; 
“ he’s yonder in the bor-rn.” 


AGNES. 


48 


“ Call the landlady, then. She will do as well.” 

“ Goody Salkins ! ” mechanically answered the 
girl, while her absorbed attention remained fixed 
on the amazing personage before her. 

“ Yes, anybody.” 

“ She’d never heed ye. She could not budge, the 
poor dame, wi’ the ague.” 

“ Where’s the barmaid, then, — the boots, the 
ostler ? ” 

“ Oi clean th’ boots, what ther’ be,” she said, 
gazing critically at his immaculate top-boots; “ ’n’ 
oi ’ll draw ye a mug o’ ale, ’f ye want.” 

“No; never mind, thank you. And so,” contin¬ 
ued the young man, with an amused look, “you are 
the landlady, then, the barmaid, boots, ostler, — in 
fine, the whole force. And what may your name be, 
my pretty lass ? ” 

Recalled to self-consciousness by this direct per¬ 
sonal remark, the girl dropped her eyes bashfully as 
she answered, — 

“ ‘ Ag,’ they call me.” 

“ That’s for Agnes ? ” 

“ Ay; but’t is only the minister calls it so,” she 
replied, sidling slowly away towards her abandoned 
slop-bucket. 

“ Well, Agnes,” continued the capricious traveller, 
with the possible intent of prolonging the interview, 
“ I’m thinking I ’ll change my mind about the ale. 
You may draw me a mug, after all, if you will.” 

The call for service at once restored the embar¬ 
rassed servant-maid to ease. Dropping her scrub¬ 
bing-brush, she proceeded directly on her errand. 


44 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


Frankland, meanwhile, improved the opportunity to 
saunter into the little fore-room and seat himself 
at the window. Agnes, returning presently with 
the ale, approached him coyly and held out the 
foaming mug at arm’s length. He affected not to 
see it. 

“ Ther’ ’t is for ye I ” 

“ Ah, yes,” he said, taking it carelessly and turn¬ 
ing back to the window. “ So this is the Fountain, 
— the best inn in town, I suppose ? ” 

“ Good or bad, ther’s none other! ” she answered, 
making a movement towards the door. 

“ And how long have you been here, Agnes ? ” he 
went on, still intent on the window. 

“ It’s not two months gone yet,” she replied, paus¬ 
ing on her heel, unable to resist the temptation to 
study his averted face. 

“ Where were you before that ? ” 

“ Nowher’, oi wor n’t.” 

“ ‘ Nowhere ’ ? ” 

“ Only home wi’ my mother.” 

“ And does your mother live hereabouts ? ” 

“ Close by. Yonder ye may see ’t, ’cross the 
cove.” 

“ ‘ Across the cove ’ ? ” he muttered with affected 
stupidity. “ I do not make it out.” 

“ Why, roight ther’ ’t is ; just over the sands. See ? ” 
she exclaimed, forgetting for the moment her awe of 
the grand stranger, and pressing close up beside him 
in the narrow window-seat in her eagerness to point 
out the house. 

“Ah, yes, the little cottage, I see. And do you 


AGNES. 


45 


like living here better than at home?” he asked, 
stealing a glance at the intent face now close to his 
own. 

“ It’s willy nilly oi come, an’ willy nilly oi stay; 
oi ha’ no complaints to make.” 

Becoming suddenly conscious of the penetrating 
blue eyes gazing closely into her own, and seeing her 
own soiled and shabby garments in contact with the 
elegant dress of the stranger, she started up and 
quickly retreated from the window. 

“Stay, my good lass,” he said kindly; “I have 
something to say to you.” 

He paused, forgetful of his intent, in admiration 
of the girl’s figure as she stood there with the ex¬ 
pression of a startled bird, the rich fringe of her 
downcast lashes shading her sunburnt cheek, an air 
of arrested flight so vividly expressed in every limb 
that if suddenly petrified it might well have befitted 
a Diana of the Bath. 

The spell was rudely broken by a footstep on the 
outer threshold. 

“ Ther’s th’ Londlar-rd fur ye! ” she cried, with 
an air of relief; and directly afterwards a common¬ 
looking man entered the room, who, at sight of so 
distinguished a guest, began straightwa}' pouring 
forth profuse apologies for his neglect. Agnes seized 
the opportunity to escape from the room. 

Whatever the business was that called Frankland 
to Marblehead, he kept his own counsel. Asking no 
questions at the inn, he went away alone directly 
after supper, and did not return until late at night. 
In vain Goodman Salkins marvelled as to the nature 


46 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


of the errand which could bring so unusual a visitor 
to his humble house, in vain talked it over with his 
gossips, in vain cross-examined the stranger’s ser¬ 
vant ; honest Sambo was as ignorant as himself. 
And so the baffled landlord was fain to console him¬ 
self with the reflection that the mystery, if mystery 
there were, must sooner or later come out, and no¬ 
body in town was likely to have earlier intelligence 
of it than himself. 

Early next morning Frankland was awakened by 
the deafening clamor of the song-birds; robins, blue¬ 
birds, orioles, bubbling bobolinks, and whistling 
quails made up the morning chorus. Suddenly in 
the midst of the medley arose a fresh, clear human 
voice singing a snatch of an old ballad. A connois¬ 
seur in music, Frankland listened with delight. He 
was like a lapidary unexpectedly coming upon a rare 
gem. Jumping up, he ran to the window. The 
singer had stopped. Nobody was to be seen. Pres¬ 
ently, down the path leading from the fountain 
whence the little inn took its name, came tripping a 
lithesome figure. It was Agnes. Just as Frankland 
caught sight of her, she stopped to chaff with a 
passing gossip, — a bumpkin with a pail of milk. He 
could not hear their words, but the gay, free tones 
of her voice came floating up to the window where 
he stood peeping behind the curtains. Presently, 
letting fly a parting sally at the admiring youth, she 
v caught up the heavy wooden bucket filled with water, 
and swung it round and round her head without 
spilling a drop. The indescribable grace of her 
whirling figure, the early sunbeams glinting in a 


AGNES . 


47 


golden shower through the trees, and the white pet* 
als of the apple-blossoms falling all about, formed a 
picture which the bumpkin, in an unwary moment, 
strove to reproduce. 

Uplifting his bucket of milk, he swung it around 
once or twice, loudly challenging her attention. His 
triumph was short-lived. The bail of the bucket 
broke in mid-air, and the milk came streaming down 
upon him in a drenching shower. 

There was a moment’s pause. Agnes stopped, as 
if to catch her breath, and then burst forth into irre¬ 
pressible laughter. Peal after peal it came bubbling 
and gurgling from her throat like struggling water 
from a bottle. Frankland looked on at first with 
scarcely a smile. It was not a subject to stir a finer 
sense of mirth. But a finer sense of mirth would 
have been incapable of so deep-going a convulsion, 
in which body and soul were alike given over to 
mirth’s victorious control. The laughter of the girl 
was catching and irresistible. It was the laugh of 
one rarely moved, and then to the depths. Frank¬ 
land astonished himself presently by laughing aloud 
out of pure sympathy. 

Meantime the rueful face of the youth when he 
realized his mishap, his angry grumblings as he 
mopped his face, brought on fresh accessions of mirth 
in the poor girl, who gasped, and choked, and wiped 
her streaming eyes as she leaned against a tree in 
utter abandonment. 

A sharp summons from the house put an end to 
the scene. Recalled to her neglected duties, Agnes 
caught up her bucket and stammered out some in- 


48 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


articulate condolence to the sulky youth as she hur¬ 
ried away. 

The song and the laughter, or both together, would 
seem to have made an unusual impression upon the 
pensive young Englishman. Casting about, as he 
dressed, for some pretext of getting speech again 
with the beautiful kitchen-wench, he bethought him 
of sending down his boots to be cleaned. As he 
expected, she brought them back. 

“ And who taught you to sing, Agnes ? ” 

“ Nobody has lor-rned me; oi could always sing. 
’Tis gold, this?” she concluded, staring fixedly at 
the coin in her hand. 

“ Yes, a guinea.” 

“ Oi’m to take’t to th’ londlar-rd ? ” 

“ No ; you are to keep it yourself! ” 

“ Oi! ” she gasped in amazement. 

“ Yes ; ’tis to buy you some shoes.” 

Glancing down at her bare feet with a deep blush, 
she straightway withdrew them within the protecting 
shadow of her petticoat. 

“ Oi know not what to say to ye,” she faltered. 

“ Say nothing at all, then.” 

“ Shall ye ever-r come hither-r again ? ” 

“Would you like to have me come again?” he 
asked, with a look of interest. 

“ Oi — oi — ” She stopped and blushed. 

“ You do not care.” 

“ Thet oi do ! Oi wish ye moight, wi’ all my 
her-rt! ” she cried, and fled like a fawn down the 
stairs. 


CHAPTER IV. 


JOB REDDEN. 


’ EXT Lord’s Day, as noontide approached, a 



1 ^ group of idle young men gathered around 
the porch of Parson Holyoke’s little meeting-house. 
Nothing would have induced one of them to cross 
the threshold and assist at the service within ; for by 
such an act he would have lost caste forever among 
his associates. The good parson, of course, was un¬ 
sparing in his denunciation of such backsliding; for 
most of these loungers had been in younger days 
members of his congregation, who had graduated 
after their first trip “ to the Banks.” Yain, however, 
were his reproaches, vain his entreaties, vain his ter¬ 
rible and realistic pictures of the consequences of 
such contumacy at the judgment-day; the sturdy 
young fishermen continued to brave his wrath and 
the elders’ disapproving glare, and limited their at¬ 
tendance to the vestibule, where, however, be it said, 
they failed not to appear as regularly as the week 
rolled around. 

The meeting-house vestibule was naturally enough 
ihe social exchange of the town, where everybody 
stopped to have a chat with his neighbor, to ask 
after the sick and absent, to talk over the crops and 


4 


50 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


fishing, the births and deaths, — in fine, the comedy 
and tragedy of the week. 

The young girls, after the fashion of their elders, 
gathered in a group apart, chattering of their lesser 
interests in studied unconsciousness of the young 
men loitering near, who each, however, after his own< 
clumsy and sheepish manner, in the course of a few 
minutes sidled up and joined the merry party. As 
silently and gradually as it had been formed, the little 
group began presently to fall apart and melt away, as 
if through the operation of some mysterious chemical 
action whereby each particle masculine or feminine 
had found its affinity. 

“ Come,” said Job Redden to Agnes ; “ we moight 
better-r be walkin’ loike th’ others.” 

“ No, oi ’ll be wanted yonder-r; ’t is past noon.” 

“ What motter-r ! ” 

“ Th’ londlar-rd ’ll be lookin’ out fur me; ther’s 
all them for-rt folk to dinner, ’n’ oi’ve the table to 
spread.” 

“ D-n th’ for-rt folk! Come, ye’ve toime fur 

a bit o’ a tur-rn in the berry in-grun.” 

“ Indeed, but oi ha’ not.” 

“ ’Cause ye will not, that’s a’. Ye’ve ever an 
excuse at th’ end o’ yer tongue. Speak out, ’n’ say 
ye don’t want ’er, ’n’ ha’ done with’t! ” 

“ Oi don’t want ’er, then, ther’ now! ” retorted the 
girl, with a mischievous sideway glance at his face. 

“ Oi worrnt ye ’re ready eno’ fur gibin’.” 

“ Oi’m ready fur nothin’ o’ th’ sort.” 

“ Come, then, fur a tur-rn down to th’ willow 
yonder by Goody Lattimore’s grave! Ye ’ll not be 


JOB REDDEN. 


51 


wanted this half-hour at th’ Funtain. Londlar-rd 
Salkins was feather-rin’ the chickens in the shed as 
oi come along.” 

“Ye shall bear the blame ’f oi’m berated, moind,” 
she said, yielding at length, with a proper show of 
reluctance. “But — ugh! oi don’t need holdin’ so 
toight, mon, oi can stond up by myself.” 

“ Ay, ye ’re so grond wi’ yer new shoes. Ye must 
get gret pay at th’ tor-rvern.” 

“ Oi should wait a gret whoile fur-r shoes out o’ 
my pay yonder-r.” 

“ Eh — yer say ? ” 

“ A foive-pun’ note at th’ end o’ th’ year-r ’n’ not a 
penny th’ whoile.” 

“ An’ so th’ old mon’s been raisin’ the wind ? ” 

“ For-rther? No, he’s not, nuther-r.” 

“ Wher’ then ? ” 

“A present they wor, ’n’ that’s wher’.” 

“Th’londlar-rd?” 

“ No, no, no, not he it wor-r n’t; ha, ha! ” laughed 
the girl with delight; “ ye ’re freezin’ now.” 

“ Oi’m not loike to get war-rmer at puzzlin’.” 

“ Well, then, — but ye must promise never to tell.” 

“ Ay, ay! ” 

“’Twor the grondest mon ever oi saw, wi’ th* 
foinest clothes, ’n’ silk stockin’s, ’n’ lace at his throat, 
»n’ bonds whoiter ’n a lady’s, covered wi’ rings.” 

“ Pf-f-f! ’n’ so thet’s the koind o’ a popinjay ye 
ca’ foine ? ” 

“ An’ so he was; a big lor-rd or somethin’ o’ thet 
sor-rt, ye may be sure, for he had a grond way wi’ him, 
’n’ the most be-eautiful face ye ever saw.” 


62 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Oh, oi worrnt him; V what was this hoigh V 
moighty lor-rd doin’ at th’ Fun tin tor-rvern ? ” 

“ Why, thet’s it; nobody knows, — th’ londlar-rd 
no more ’n the rest; he wor n’t of the koind that tell 
the’r business to ev’rybody chonces to oome along.” 

“ Thet oi ’ll engage; ’n’ ’t wor no honest business, ye 
may be sure. But how hoppens this peacock to be 
givin’ shoes t’ Ag Surriage ? thet’s what oi want to 
know.” 

“ Oi never-r said he give shoes.” 

44 Eh! Ha’ ye th’ face to deny— ” 

“ No, no ; not shoes, but money ; gold, — a broight 
gold piece. Oi cleaned his boots — ther’ were no 
dir-rt on ’em more ’n moine this minute ; ’n’ when oi 
took ’em up, he — he — spoke so koind, ’n’ — ’n’ — ” 

“’N’ what?” demanded Job, savagely. 

“ ’N’ gave me this gold piece, ’n’ patted me under 
the chin wi’ his soft bond,” continued Agnes, with a 
bright blush. 

“He did, did he,” sneered Job; “tur-rn ye round 
here, since ye ’re so fond o’t, ’n’ oi’ll chuck ye under 
th’ chin to yer her-rt’s content! ” 

“ Go away ther’ now; ye ’re hur-rtin’ me! ” 

“ ’N’ what more did he say?” 

“ He said oi had a foine voice, ’n’ ’t wor a pity oi’d 
no teachin’; ’n’ then he — he asked me where wor my 
shoes.” 

“ What domned business was it o’ his, oi’d loike to 
know ? ” 

“’N’ when oi said oi had none—’’continued 
Agnes, absorbed in her reminiscence or reckless of 
the effect she was producing. 


JOB REDDEN. 


53 


M Wha’ th’ devil’s name d’ ye say that fur ? ” 

“Wud ye ha’ me tell him a loi? ” 

“ Ay, wud oi; tell him onything; the truth’s too 
good fur that sor-rt.” 

U ’N’ so he made me take the gold piece,’n’ oi bought 
the shoes V this bit o’ ribbon at my neck besoide; 
ye did n’t look at it! ” 

“ Oi ha’ somethin’ better to do, ’n’ so ha’ you. But 
ye ’re forgettin’ yer haste all o’ a sudden! ” 

“ Ay, but oi ’ll not forget it soon again, oi worrnt 
ye. Oi ’ll not be in a haste soon again to come walk¬ 
in’ wi’ you in the berryin’-gr-run, Job Redden.” 

“ No doubt, no doubt, ye’d be glad to be rid o’ me; 
oi dare swear ye wud. But oi ha’ somethin’ still to 
*ay to ye, Ag.” 

“ Why don’t ye say it, then? Who’s hind’rin’ ye ?” 

“ ’T is not to be said in a breath ; oi ha’ no toime 
now, nor you, nuther. Oi moight come after ye when 
oi go to-night for bait, ’f yer head worn’t so full o’ 
yer foine popinjay’t ye could n’t listen to common 
sense.” 

“ Ef ye call blamin’ ’n’ abuse common sense, oi ha’ 
hed eno’ o’t a’ready; oi’m free to say thet, Job 
Redden.” 

“ Oi ’ll speak my moind wherever oi am; an ye 
don’t loike it, ye know what ye can do.” 

“ Thet oi do, ’n’ ye can go for bait by yerself, ’n’ 
speak out yer moind to yer fish, since yer so fond o’t; 
so ther’ now.” 

“ Go yer ways for a puffed-up hussy ! ” exclaimed 
the discomfited Job, looking after the indignant girl 
as without a look or a nod she turned off on the wind- 


54 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ing road that led to the tavern and left her lover to 
his own reflections. 

Notwithstanding this quarrel at midday, however, 
Agnes betrayed no surprise to see Job turn up as 
usual in the evening, as she sat on the broad stone 
step at the kitchen door watching the sunset glow 
fade from the eastern sky. 

“ So here ye be,” he began; “ oi ha’ been waitin’ 
fur ye down at the w’aarf.” 

“ What call had ye to wait for me ? ” 

“ To go fur th’ bait; ye know well enough. Come, 
are ye ready ? ” 

“ No, oi’m not ready, ’n’ oi’ve no thought o’ goin’, 
nuther.” 

“ Come, budge now ; don’t be a dunce. Oi ha’ come 
fur ye, ’n’ ye see oi forgive ye what ye said to me at 
par-rtin’.” 

“ Ye ha’ been aforehond wi’ me, then.” 

(i What ye dr-rivin’ at now ? ” 

“Oi’ve a little motter o’ forgivin’ o’my own to 
do.” 

“ Fudge ! Ha’ oi not come fur ye ? It’s not fur a 
chicken loike you to begin storin’ up grudges.” 

“ Oi’m toired o’ bein’ huff’d ’n’ ding’d about, ’n’ oi 
ha’ told ye that afore.” 

“ Make no more wor-rds about it; oi’m sorry oi 
moddened ye. What more’s to be said ? Come, 
come now! ” 

“ Th’ londlar-rd moight n’t loike it.” 

“Ther’ he’s yonder at tli’ bor-rn then; go ask 
him ! ” concluded Job, turning away as if it were all 
settled; “ V oi ; 11 go get th’ oars.” 


JOB REDDEN. 


56 


He was not mistaken. Whether Agnes was not 
seriously offended at her plain-spoken admirer, or 
whether she thought she had punished him enough 
already, does not appear. The fact only remains 
that five minutes afterwards she came scrambling 
down the rocks in front of the tavern, and, unde¬ 
terred by the rank smell, by the dirty seats covered 
with fish-scales, the bait-knives and offal-buckets, 
seated herself in the boat and took up the tiller, 
while Job pushed off, and with long vigorous strokes 
sent the boat speeding over the quiet water. 

“ Oi did n’t tell ye th’ baargain oi hed, Ag,” he 
began after a little. “ This boat — it’s moine ; oi ha’ 
bought it, — the foinest un in th’ cove, ’tis.” 

“Ay, ’tis a foine un enough,” returned Agnes, 
looking critically at the little craft. 

“ By ’n’ by, after oi ha’ been to th’ Banks a haaf- 
score toimes more, we ’ll ha’ mayhap a schooner o’ 
our own too, — yer ’n’ oi.” 

“ Oi?” 

“ Ay, when we set up, — th’ very foinest schooner 
in the harbor’t ’ll be.” 

“ Who talks o’ settin’ up ? ” 

“ Oi do.” 

“Oi’ll mayhap ha’ a wor-rd to say to thet my¬ 
self.” 

“ Ye ’ll ha’ but one wor-rd to say, ’n’ thet’s 4 Ay ’.” 

“ Oi’m loike to wait till oi’m asked fir-rst, ’n’ never 
fear but oi ’ll speak my moind.” 

“ Ye’ve been speakin’ yer moind this twel-month 
past; an ye had any other moind, ’t was toime’t came 
out long ago.” 


56 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“ Oi’m not goin’ to be told what oi ’ll say or when 
oi ’ll say it, nuther. Oi’m not loike to say Ay or No 
to a question till oi’m asked it.” 

“ Ha’ oi not been courtin’ ye ever since oi wor' a 
uut-tail?” 

“ An ye ha’, what then ? ” 

“ Ye had no roight to come wi’ me an ye meant 
not to come wi’ me fur good.” 

“ ’N’ when did oi not make trouble eno’ about 
goin’ with ye, ’n’ said 4 No, no, no,’ till oi was toired 
sayin’ ’t, ’n’ ye wud never take no for answer, but 
must ever be dr-roggin’ me after ye loike a dog wi’ 
a string ? ” 

“ Ye need not ha’ come an ye had not wished.” 

“ ‘Need not ’ is easy to say; but wher’ was my help 
when ye squaled me up loike a cat wud a kitten ? ” 

The conversation was here interrupted by their 
arrival at the nets, where Job was busily engaged 
for a quarter of an hour or more, during which he 
did not open his lips. Turning to come home, how¬ 
ever, he delayed not to resume the discussion; in 
which both soon became so warmly engaged as not 
to perceive a dense fog which came rolling rapidly 
in from the open sea, and so entirely enveloped them 
as to shut off all view of the shore and the sur¬ 
rounding islands. A heavy ground-swell meantime 
had been driving the negligent oarsman towards a 
dangerous reef. 

“ See now wher’ we ha’ come to wi’ yer talk, Job 
Redden! ” cried Agnes, waking suddenly to their 
situation. “We ’ll be pixilated ’n’ driven on to th’ 
rocks an ye don’t wake up.” 


JOB REDDEN. 57 

44 Oi care not ’f we be, uther; ye ha’ moddened me 
wi' yer folly.” 

44 Oi’m not bound to talk as you please, thet oi 
know.” 

44 Yer head is tur-rned wi’ that popinjay thet come 
to th’ tavern.” 

44 Yer ’re a fool yerself, Job Redden ! What should 
oi care fur him. He wor a gentleman, oi told ye afore ; 
he’s nothin’ to me, ’n’ mayhap oi ’ll never see him 
again.” 

44 Oh, ye ’ll not pull wool over-r my oies loike thet; 
oi know ye well. Ye ’re mad about the popinjay. 
Ye can think o’ nothin’ besoide. Ye fancy he ’ll be 
cornin’ back one o’ these foine days ’n’ chuck ye 
under the chin again, ’n’ give ye more gold pieces, ’n’ 
carry ye off to make a leddy o’ ye ! ” 

44 Hold yer silly tongue, mon, ’n’ look wher’ ye ’re 
goin’,” cried the girl, now deaf to his reproaches in 
their imminent peril; 44 don’t ye hear the breakers on 
th’ rocks? We ’re driftin’ in, oi tell ye ! ” 

44 Will ye say once for a’, be ye my sweether-rt or 
no ? ” he returned, reckless of the danger. 

44 Row! row, Job! We ’re driftin’ in, oi say! ” 

46 Will ye give up the popinjay, ’n’ take up wi’ me 
fur good ’n’ for aye ? ” 

44 Job — Job Redden, will ye pull ? 99 

44 Answer! ” 

44 No! no! no ! I ’ll not answer at any mon’s 
biddin’.” 

44 We’ll just both go to th’ devil together, then,” 
cried the incensed young man, unshipping the oaci 
and throwing them into the bottom of the boat. 


58 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


But he reckoned without his host if he hoped to 
terrify his companion. Familiar with the sea from 
her earliest childhood, accustomed to all kinds of 
weather and all sorts of craft, knowing the course 
thoroughly, and being only less stalwart and skilful 
than Job himself, she seized the oars, lighted the 
boat, and after a fierce struggle of a few minutes suc¬ 
ceeded in getting it free of the breakers; and then 
settling to her work with long, clean, vigorous strokes, 
she pulled the whole distance home, a mile or more, 
without a break and without a word. 

Job, sitting in the bow in dogged silence, watched 
her stolidly as her comely arms swayed back and 
forth with the regularity of a machine, and she shook 
the white foam from her dark hair as now and then 
a breaker dashed over them. 

Rounding up at length to the little wharf, she rose 
with her eyes glowing and her cheeks all crimson 
with the exercise, and looking back at her mute com¬ 
panion as she stepped ashore, said with a touch of 
compassion: — 

“Ye’re crimmy wi’th’ fog, Job. Ye’d best get 
some grog.” 

“ Oi’m crimmy wher’ no grog ’ll ever wor-rm me! ” 
he said bitterly as he brushed past her and strode 
rapidly away. 


CHAPTER V. 


A SUPPER-PARTY, 


NE morning Frankland received the following 



v_V letter from home, which is of interest here not 
only for a memorable suggestion it unwittingly fur¬ 
nished to the Collector, but for a certain antique tone 
of value to our narrative. 


London, Downing Street, 1742. 


My dear Harry, — Seeing myself likely to grow gray 
before hearing from you, I so far forego considerations of 
age and dignity as to write again 


“ D’ antico amor senti la gran potenza.” 


Ay, and a mighty power it hath too, as this will testify. 
But though I begin to hate you for such neglect, I forbear 
excommunication with bell and candle while there is such 
reasonable room for doubt whether you be not ere this 
slaughtered by the savages or eaten up by wild beasts. My 
compassion is further moved by the thought that pen and 
ink may be wanting to you there in the forest, where yet in 

your d-d persistence you must needs go; but I will 

waste no more words on that topic. Did I not exhaust the 
language of entreaty to obstruct your departure ? No; I 
will talk of a more rational subject, — to wit, myself. I will 
confess (what you must needs presently discover) that I am 
working off on you a present fit of vapors induced, imprimis , 
by a three days' storm which has kept me house-bound; next* 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


fiO 

by the dark and lowering fortunes of our family, — Sir Rob* 
ert, although made a peer, being done for politically; and 
last of all, by a vile rheum caught last Thursday at my 
Lady Townshend’s ball, where, however, I swear to you I 
found such a blaze of beauty assembled as was never be¬ 
fore gathered in one room. Judge for yourself. Lady 

E-s, Lady C-e F—■»—y, Lady L-y M-s, Lady 

C-a B-1, and, fairer than all, Lady S-a herself — 

have I said enough ? Five hundred invitations, and fully 
two hundred accepted. The ball broke up at 3 o. c. for the 
general crowd; but a dozen mad wags, your old boon com¬ 
panions, held fast to the fiddlers, and kept up the dance till 
the sun peeped in through the curtains. 

The town is in a whirl of gayety. The opera in full 
blast, but indifferently good. ’T is settled the Prince shall 
go Wednesdays and his Majesty Saturdays, that there may 
be no danger of their meeting. There’s nothing yet to 
equal the Farinelli, to my thinking. Monticelli has a good 
voice, but shows no training; and Amorevoli has not yet 
sung. The women are better, the Yiscontina admirable, — 
a village wench, ’tis said, whom a roving manager heard 
singing by chance in a barnyard, and straightway rescued 
from the dung-heap. She sings like a nightingale, and has 
a fortune in her voice. 

You will conclude I am horn-mad about music when I say 
I am to have two of the above-named warblers to sing for 
me at home to-morrow night. ’Tis for my Lord Fanny, 
who, you must know, can no longer go to the opera. I may 
safely whisper to you yonder at the Antipodes, that the old 
beau has become a monstrous fright, the face of a corpse, — 
’tis said on account of his epilepsy, — his cheeks dashed 
with rouge, and, as old Marlboro’ swears, not a tooth in his 
head. Old Marlboro’ is aere perennius — how can a thing 
be more lasting than itself ? My old namesake Flaccus had 







A SUPPER-PARTY. 


61 


a premonition of her when he wrote. No longer than three 
weeks ago she was seized with a spasm, and the whole town 
was agog with hopes she might die. The doctor came in 
haste, shook his head, and said she must be blooded at once. 
“ I ’ll not be blooded,” quo’ she; “ and I ’ll live to spite 
you! ” And so faith she did. 

To come back again to the Opera, the directors are a sel 
of young men of quality as unskilled as babes. They pay 
ridiculous salaries. To the Muscovita, for instance, eight 
hundred pounds, — an unheard-of price for a second woman. 

But veniamo ad altro. At Court, where ’tis as dull as 
Chancery in vacation, his Majesty continues to limit his 
favors to the Walmoden, whom he not long since made 
Countess of Yarmouth. This will set you wondering what 
has become of a certain other countess, — a quondam friend 
of yours. Why, truth to tell, my Lady Suffolk, besides 
being long since past the heyday of her charms, waxed so 
monstrous deaf, — nay, never think so vile a pun intended, 
— that the King at length grew tired of bellowing love into 
her venerable ears, and so transplanted her to a little villa 
at Twickenham, where she is like some day to be a neighbor 
of mine, if I ever carry out a present vague purpose of buy¬ 
ing a certain snug little box at Strawberry Hill. We have 
already exchanged gossip over sundry dishes of tea, and she 
has a store of choice matter, having lived so long at Court. 
’T was at one of these sittings she let out the secret of Lady 
Sundon’s mysterious ascendency in the bedchamber: ’t was 
she alone knew of the queen’s rupture. u She never took 
money for her influence,” said some one lately to Sir Rob¬ 
ert. “No,” retorted he; “but she had £1400 in jewels 
from my Lady Pomfret for the post of Master of the 
Horse.” 

Domestic matters are in better trim. I did not much 
relish at first seeing Moll Skerritt, who had lived so long in 


62 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


left-handed relations with Sir Robert, made Lady Walpole 
and elevated to my dead mother’s place; but her ladyship, 
I’m bound to say, behaves with much decorum in her new 
position. She is so well received, too, that there was quite 
a scramble among the ladies of the Court as to who should 
have the honor of presenting her. 

I have constant news from Mann at Florence. What 
think you is the last he says ? Why, that old Lady Mary 
threatens to return to London. We are shaking in our 
shoes at the thought of having that squalid, tawdry, bedi¬ 
zened old beldam hobbling about among us again, cheating 
at cards and maligning honest folk with her foul, scandalous 
tongue. 

The prospect of a war over the Austrian Succession every 
moment increases. What is there left to say ? 

“ Le donne, i cavalier’, 1’ arme gli amori 
Le cortesi, 1’ audaci imprese io canto,” 

or, rather, have sung through I dare not count how many 
sides of fair paper; mark you it well, Sir Ingrate. You will 
have a heavy reckoning, for I demand usury. See to it, and 
presently, if you would not add another to the number of 
j our deadly foes. And so good-night, child. 

Yours ever, 

Horace Walpole. 

Having finished the letter, Frankland turned back 
and read over and over again a certain passage in it 
which seemed to have a peculiar interest. He still 
sat with the open sheet in his hand when a messenger 
arrived in the livery of the governor, bearing a note 
containing the compliments of Mrs. Shirley and an 
invitation to supper for the same evening. 

“ Nothing could be better,” he muttered, despatch* 


A SUPPER-PARTY . 


63 


ing an affirmative answer. “ I will consult her 
upon it.” 

Yonder in Roxbury still stands what remains of 
the stately old mansion which, nearly a century and 
a half ago, was the abode of one of the most distin¬ 
guished of the royal governors. Then it stood remote 
‘from the highway, with a commanding view of the 
sea, the distant town, and the surrounding country, 
perched upon its granite foundation and approached 
by an imposing flight of granite steps. 

Up these steps Frankland proceeded on the night 
in question, and having gained admission, was shown 
through an ante-room opening to the right from the 
vestibule into the drawing-room, where the mistress 
of the house in all the old-time grandeur of attire sat 
receiving her guests. 

But more than her luxury of surroundings, more 
even than her aquiline nose and double chin, Mrs. 
Shirley’s fine air contributed to the imposing figure 
she presented in stepping forward to meet her young 
rival in the race for the collectorship. Having al¬ 
ready on a former occasion congratulated him on his 
success, they met without constraint on either side. 

“ Mr. Frankland — Madam Hutchinson, Mistress 
Vassall, Mr. Hutchinson.” She had barely time to 
present the new-comer before supper was announced. 

The talk at table was chiefly of town and church 
patters. 

“ Bromfield and Cushing are returned to the Gen¬ 
ual Court, I see,” said his Excellency. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Hutchinson, “ there was little op¬ 
position ; they are both very popular.” 


64 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“What else was done at town-meeting?” asked 
Mrs. Shirley, dexterously cutting up a pair of fowls 
while his Excellency carved the joint. 

“Very little of moment; it was determined to lay 
out a highway to the fortifications from Summer 
Street to the Sconce, which can only be done by 
shaving off a slice from Fort Hill.” 

“ And a great improvement, too,” said the Gov¬ 
ernor ; “’t is a roundabout way enough now.” 

“ Then,” continued Mr. Hutchinson, “ there was 
some measure taken to prevent the impressment of 
seamen.” 

“ Ay,” his Excellency nodded, “ I expected that; 
those high-handed gentlemen of the navy must have 
a care, or they will bring a nest of hornets buzzing 
about their ears.” 

“ But,” asked his wife, “ what are they to do, since 
they must have men ? ” 

“ Just what I took the liberty of suggesting at the 
meeting,” remarked Mr. Hutchinson, calmly; “ but 
j t ou should have heard how I was berated. 4 Men,* 
cried Mr. Sam Adams, — ‘ men, sir ! they’ve as good 
a right to seize you on your way to the Council 
Chamber.’ ” 

“ What! ” cried Frankland, in comical amazement, 
“ seize a gentleman and a magistrate, — poh,poh!” 

“ Who is this Adams ? ” asked Madam. 

“ A North-End maltster,” answered Hutchinson; 
4 ‘ but very much considered by a certain sort, never¬ 
theless.” 

“ 4 Adams — Sam,’ did you say ? ” asked the Gov¬ 
ernor with an air of recollection. “ It must have been 


A SUPPER-PARTY. 


65 


a chick of his, then, that I encountered t’ other day at 
Commencement. The young cock-sparrow had the 
hardihood to come out under my very nose and read 
a thesis upon the title : ‘ Whether it be Lawful to 
resist the Supreme Magistrate if the Commonwealth 
cannot otherwise be preserved.’ ” 

“ Yes, they grow more and more saucy,” interposed 
Mrs. Hutchinson. “ But, to come back to the point; 
the fact remains that with these common seamen one 
ship is just the same as another.” 

“ It will not do,” said his Excellenc}', with a deci¬ 
sive shake of his head. “ Right or wrong, the practice 
will never be submitted to here.” 

“ But what other business was transacted ? ” asked 
the hostess, taking a hint, from her husband’s manner, 
to change the subject. 

“Humph ! not much; various trifling matters, — a 
provision, for instance, requiring everybody to level 
the snow which they cast out of their yards into the 
streets.” 

“ Our neighborhood will rejoice at that,” exclaimed 
Miss Vassall; “ for last winter, all along Bishop’s 
Alley and Pudding Lane, which you know is our 
short cut to the Town House, ’t was quite like cross¬ 
ing the Alps, with the snow a succession of mountains 
and valleys the whole way.” 

“Then,” continued Hutchinson, “there was talk 
of setting up another writing-school at the South 
end.” 

“And sorely needed it is,” added his wife, “for 
ours has long been overcrowded.” 

“I'm told they have very good schools here,” 

6 


66 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


remarked Frankland, “ and that all sorts and condi¬ 
tions are learning to read.’’ 

“ Yes ; ’t is our purpose to educate every child above 
the condition of a servant.” 

“ A dangerous scheme,” said the Collector, shaking 
his head; “ ’t will make mischief. See the result in 
the case of What’s-his-name,— the young cockerel 
who read the paper over at Commencement. Not 
that there are not exceptions; which reminds me, 
by the bye, of a visit I made t’ other day to a droll 
little place down the coast, —you all know it, I 
daresay,— Marblehead. Where,” he continued, as 
everybody nodded assent, “being attracted by the 
name of a little inn called after our famous tavern 
in the Strand at home, I went in and found scrub¬ 
bing the steps a young fisher-lass with a voice like a 
nightingale.” 

“ Indeed! ” 

“ Oh, I assure you, quite remarkable. I heard her 
afterwards singing outside in the garden, — a rare 
voice with a wonderful register, I give you my word, 
but as untrained, of course, as a bird’s.” 

“ The poor child! ” cried Mrs. Shirley ; “ what a 
pity she cannot be educated ! ” 

“ My own thought, madam,” continued Frankland, 
encouraged by the heartiness of the tone ; “ and, 
oddly, I had this morning a suggestive letter from 
Horace Walpole, in which he recounts the history of 
the reigning London prima donna, — that she was 
picked up by chance in some out-of-the-way place 
like this and educated, and is now the wonder of the 
town.” 


A SUPPER-PARTY. 


67 


“ Not a doubt of it ; ’t is the common history of 
geniuses, and why may not your little fisher-maid 
be such another ? There’s many a rose blooms 
under the hedge. If you were only sure of her 
talent.” 

“ I stake my reputation as a connoisseur on it.” 

“ Then if somebody could be found charitable 
enough to undertake the expense of her training.” 

“ I would gladly do so much as that myself.” 

“ Are you in earnest ? ” asked the hostess, ex¬ 
changing her half-quizzical manner for one more 
serious. 

“ Indeed I am.” 

“ Why, then — ” began the lady, impulsively. 

“ Take care! ” in a warning tone from her hus¬ 
band. 

“ Thank you, sir! ” returned his wife, quickly. “ I 
was hesitating to make the offer; but with your 
approval I will venture.” Then turning to Frank- 
land, “ My husband says ‘ Take care! ’ and acting 
upon such good advice, I will charge myself with the 
care of the girl’s health and education if you succeed 
in bringing her to town.” 

“ Yes, yes, I warrant you,” interrupted the Gov¬ 
ernor, laughing. “ Mrs. Shirley has only seven chil¬ 
dren of her own to care for, which she finds so small 
a task that she must needs look abroad for something 
to employ her time.” 

“If my children were permitted to engross my 
attention,” retorted his spouse, readily, “ the reproach 
would be just; but my poor opinion is so often de¬ 
manded on grave matters of State, that by good right 


68 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


I should be enrolled of the Council, and have my 
name added to the Civil List.” 

“ I cry you mercy! ” exclaimed his Excellency, 
laughing. 

“ There is no danger that my household will suffer; 
and for the rest, I hope I shall always find a little 
time to bestow in charity, the rather that I have so 
little else to give.” 

“ Have done! have done! or you will make me out 
a niggard,” protested the Governor. 

“ Having now, as you see, disposed of all opposi¬ 
tion, I may venture to promise you my aid, Mr. 
Frankland.” 

“ Many thanks, my dear madam. Then it is a bar¬ 
gain. I shall be going to Marblehead soon again, 
when I will consult the girl’s friends about the pro¬ 
ject, and if the result is favorable we will concert 
measures how best to carry it out.” 

On taking his leave later in the evening Frankland 
thought it prudent to add: — 

“ I wish to warn your ladyship, anent this fisher- 
lass, that she is a bare-legged, dishevelled little 
hussy.” 

“ Never fear,” returned the latter, with a worldly* 
wise look 5 “ my expectations are not towering.” 


CHAPTER VI. 


A PAIR OP STOCKINGS. 

TOB REDDEN’S parting words, but much more 
** his strange, gloomy look, as he turned away 
from her that foggy evening on the beach, haunted 
Agnes for days afterwards. She found herself in a 
very disturbed and anxious state of mind. However 
much she resented Job’s masterful tone, however 
unwilling she was to yield to his claim of proprietor¬ 
ship, she was yet by no means clear about her own 
behavior. Her conscience started up in a very dis¬ 
concerting way as Job’s champion. Pursuing voices 
sounded in her ears as she came and went about her 
daily tasks, to the effect that Job was justified in 
his position, that she had not dealt fairly by him, 
that his only fault — if fault it could be called — was 
in loving her too well, and that in fine he was now 
sorely grieved, and she was in some way to blame 
for it. 

For the first time in their life-long acquaintance 
he had failed to come promptly, after one of their 
little fallings-out, and make up. Daily she looked for 
him, but looked in vain. Every evening from her seat 
on the old doorstep she cast wistful glances down upon 
the little groups of idlers and stragglers on the beach, 
and often caught sight of his tall, vigorous figure in 


70 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the throng; but he never by any chance turned his 
face toward her, never cast a look in the direction 
of the spot where she sat eager and waiting to wave 
her hand at the slightest sign of recognition. 

I Her mind was confused, her heart distressed. 
Slowly out of this tumult of thought and emotion 
there took form a conviction that a crisis had come 
in her life ; that the past was divided from the pres¬ 
ent by an impassable gulf; that yesterday belonged 
to the happy childhood of years ago; that to-day 
she had been by some mysterious force thrust forth 
into the larger and stormful atmosphere of woman¬ 
hood without path to her feet or guide to follow. 

By turns in this mental anarchy came fits of re¬ 
sentment against Job. This was all his doing. It 
was he who had wilfully brought about this strange, 
painful state of affairs. Why had he not been con¬ 
tent to leave things as they were, when both were 
happy and all was well ? Why, forsooth, must he be 
everywhere and always so terribly in earnest ? Why 
have such a deadly meaning in everything ? 

Thus one voice, to which another answered: that 
perhaps, poor fellow, he could not help it; perhaps 
she had made him believe that she herself was as 
much in earnest as he; and if so, what wonder that 
he was cruelly disappointed ? and there could be no 
doubt that he was cruelly disappointed. 

With this prevailing voice came back a sense of 
personal blameworthiness to the unhappy girl. How 
could she make amends ? Even if she were not will¬ 
ing to become Job’s wife, he was at least one of her 
dearest friends ; he had been for years her most con- 


A PAIR OF STOCKINGS. 


71 


slant companion, and her intercourse with him a 
large part of her life. She would do something to 
show him she was sorry, — make him a little gift, a 
token, something that he could see was the fruit of 
her own labor, and done expressly for him. 

Her store of feminine accomplishments was soon 
told. She could knit. She would knit him, then, a 
pair of stockings, and her mother would give her 
plenty of good homespun yarn. Job would know 
from the size of the feet that they must have been 
done specially for him. She lost no time in carrying 
out her resolution. Every evening as long as the 
light lasted, she sat with the big ball of blue yarn 
in her lap, and with flying needles worked at her 
task. 

Before her accusing conscience meantime the 
thought arose that she had never before given Job 
anything beyond a bite of her apple or a handful of 
chestnuts from her pocket, while he had bestowed 
upon her countless keepsakes, which, as she remem¬ 
bered now with a tardy pang, she had set small store 
by. It had always seemed right and proper for Job 
to give her things. He liked to do it, and any re¬ 
luctance or hesitation on her part in receiving them 
had always aroused his instant wrath and been the 
occasion of a quarrel. 

A week sufficed to finish the stockings. The first 
fair evening afterwards she folded and slipped them 
into her pocket, and as soon as her work was over 
strolled down upon the beach. There, as usual, 
she found little groups of fishermen scattered about, 
but Job was nowhere to be seen. 


72 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


Passing her own home, the rafters of which were 
ringing with the loud cry of one of the young ones 
undergoing maternal chastisement, she kept on to the 
now completed fort. Climbing the western slope, she 
paused to look about, but saw only two or three tired 
workmen just shouldering their heavy mattocks to 
go home. Walking along the wide ramparts to the 
eastern side, she turned the corner, and at last beheld 
close before her Job’s familiar figure stretched out 
upon the bastion. 

She went quietly and sat down beside him. He 
did not move, or give any sign of recognition. 

“ Oi ha’ been lookin’ fur ye, Job,” she said, studying 
his face. 

With his eyes fixed steadfastly upon the far-off sea 
he made no answer. 

“ Oi thought, as ye ha’ not come to — to th’ tor-rvern 
afore, somethin’ must be the motter-r.” 

At this he turned and gave her a significant look. 
m its mute reproach there was mingled an unmis¬ 
takable touch of contempt which she instantly saw 
*nd resented. 

“ Now, then, ye need not be lookin’ at me loike 
that, nuther-r. Oi know ye wor moddened at me, 
but ye ha’ been moddened afore ; ye ’re allers flashin’ 
up loike powder-r, tell oi ha’ come not to moind it 
overmuch; but ye ha’ allers been to say ye wor 
sorry when ye come to yer sense, ’n’ when ye did n’t 
come this toime oi thought somethin’ must be th’ 
motter-r.” 

Job moved uneasily, but remained silent. 

“ If ye ’re moddened wi’ me, Job, ye ha’ no good 


A PAIR OF STOCKINGS. 


78 


cause. Oi ha’ more roight to be moddened wi’ ye. 
Ye well-nigh lost me my loife in yer heat, but oi bear 
ye no grudge ; ye worn’t in yer roight moind.” 

Still Job’s face relaxed not. His rugged profile, 
seen against the clear evening sky, was sharpened 
by his stern humor almost to comeliness. 

“ What’s th’ motter-r wi’ ye, ’t ye can’t speak ? ” 
exclaimed Agnes, impatiently. “ Oi ha’ said oi bear 
ye no grudge, ’n’ if oi spoke onythin’ hor-rd to ye 
oi’m sorry, ’n’ ther’s no more to be said.” 

“ Go away wi’ yer prattle. Why can’t ye leave 
me alone ? Ye care nothin’ fur-r me.” 

“ Who said oi care nothin’ fur-r ye ? Oi’m not say- 
in’ whether oi do or no ; but oi’m not goin’ to be 
told what oi’m to do, or what oi’m to say, for ony- 
body.” 

“ Yer not th’ old Ag; yer head is tur-rned; ye’ve 
lost yer sense.” 

“ It’s ye ha’ lost yer sense, and all yer senses! 
When did ever oi set up to tell ye what ye must do, 
willy nilly? Oi’m old enough to know my own 
moind, ’n’ oi ’ll not go at onybody’s beck ’n’ nod.” 

“Ha’ done talkin’, then. ’F ye know yer moind, 
that’s enough. Sin’ yer moind’s not my moind, oi 
ha’ no more to say.” 

“ Keep yer grudge, then, if yer moinded to. Oi 
ha’ said oi’m sorry to ha’ moddened ye, ’n’ oi can say 
no more. ’F ye ’ll not speak to me, oi 11 not stay.” 

There was a momentary trembling about Job’s 
mouth, which was presently repressed. 

“ Oi ha’ brought ye a bit o’ a present,” continued 
Agnes, rising. “ It’s nothin’ to speak o’, but just 


74 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


somethin’ oi made mysel’, V ye may keep it now to 
moind ye’t ye would n’t make up when oi said oi 
was sorry; ’n’ oi shall never say it again, Job Redden, 
’n’ ye need n’t expect it.” 

Agnes laid her little parcel down on the grass, and 
slowly walked away, turning back a wistful glance as 
she disappeared from sight. 

Job sat motionless, with fixed, stern look fastened 
upon the sea, long after she had gone. At length, 
rousing from his revery, he saw the little parcel. 
Slowly he unrolled the coarse stockings and smoothed 
them on his knee; and as he stroked them tenderly 
with his rough hand, a great passionate sob burst 
from him, and starting up, he hurried away in the 
gathering dusk. 

Agnes went home dismayed. The visit from which 
she had hoped so much had proved futile. Her apol¬ 
ogy and her gift had been in vain. A new, vague 
sense of loneliness stole upon her, — a feeling that 
the wide world, so crowded with fellow-creatures, 
was little better than a wilderness, and that her life, 
which hitherto had been as free and joyous as a bird’s, 
was growing dark and tragic. Nevertheless, however 
much puzzled by Job’s behavior, she was not yet 
quite without hope that he would relent and come to 
see her the next evening, as of old. 

Next day, however, word was brought that a big 
school of mackerel had been driven into the mouth of 
the harbor, and directly all was excitement in the 
little cove. Night and day the fishermen worked with 
might and main, taking advantage of their stroke of 
luck. There was no time for Job to come visiting, 


A PA IB OF STOCKINGS. 


75 


as Agnes well knew; there was, indeed, scant time 
to eat and sleep. Meantime, an incident occurred 
which diverted her thoughts. 

Going one day to draw water from the well which 
was sunk where it is to be seen to this very day, 
close to the grass-grown road leading from the high¬ 
way to the tavern, Agnes loitered over her pleasing 
task, watching the heavy bucket knock against the 
slippery stones as it slowly rose, and listening mean¬ 
while to the musical tinkling of the falling drops, 
when she was startled by a voice close behind her, 
saying: — 

“ Good-day, fair Agnes ! ” 

Full well she knew the voice, and heard the words 
yet, turning with a mantling blush, she courtesied 
deeply, without daring to look up or attempt a reply. 

“ Will you give me a drink from vour bucket, 
my good girl ? ” asked the traveller, with reassuring 
accent, as he noted her embarrassment. 

“ Ay,” she replied quickly, recalled to herself by 
the demand for service, “ if ye ’ll wait tell oi fetch a 
glass: here’s nothin’ but the biggin to drink from.” 

“ That will do, that will do; let me have the biggin 
by all means.” 

“ As ye please,” cried Agnes, quickly bringing a 
measure of the sparkling water to the thirsty traveller 
/as he sat upon his horse. Raising the clumsy wooden 
vessel to his lips and splashing the while his elegant 
riding-habit with the falling drops, he drank a few 
swallows, and carelessly tossing away the rest, handed 
back the biggin to Agnes, who stood covertly watching 
him. 


76 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Ah,” he exclaimed, wiping his lips with a square 
of perfumed lawn, “ I had forgotten water was so re¬ 
freshing. I was well-nigh choked with that cursed 
dust; ’t is a long ride from Boston hither.” 

“ Ay, so oi hear-rd ’em say, sir-r.” 

“ And do you never come to Boston, Agnes ? ” 

“No; but oi ha’ been to Salem, ’n’ it’s a gron’ place.” 

“ If you think Salem grand, you can safely be 
trusted to like Boston,” said the Collector, smiling. 
“Are you, then, so fond of your little town here 
that you do not care to go abroad and see the 
world ? ” 

“ Ay, oi’d loike gretly to see’t, but —” She paused 
as if it were idle to finish the sentence. 

“ Why, then, do you not go ? ” 

“ ‘ Why ’ ? Because oi — oi — ’cause ther’s nothin’ 
fur’t, ’n’ everythin’ to hender.” 

“ What’s to hinder ? ” 

“ Front ’n’ foremost,” answered Agnes, forgetting 
her awe of the stranger in her interest in the talk, 
“oi ha’ no call yonder-r.” 

“ You should have a call, then ; you ought to go 
and learn to sing, to have your voice trained; you 
have too fine a voice, my lass, to waste in singing to 
the birds. If you studied hard you might become a 
great singer.” 

Agnes looked up quickly with an expression of 
eager interest. 

“ How would you like that ? ” 

“ Oi dunno,” she said, dropping her eyes before his 
searching gaze, and making vague marks in the sand 
with her bare toe. “ Th’ minister says’t is oidle to be 


A PAIR OF STOCKINGS. 77 

givin’ up yer thoughts to things’t cannot come to 
pass.” 

“ And he is right, too,” said Frankland, studying the 
downcast face before him, in which native mother- 
wit was struggling with embarrassment; “ but this is 
not a case of that sort; here’s a matter can be easily 
brought to pass. If you are willing to study and 
learn you will find plenty of friends to help you. I 
know a kind gentlewoman in Boston this minute 
who would gladly aid you, and I — I will help you 
myself.” 

Agnes raised her head again and looked at the 
speaker with a puzzled and startled air. His look 
was grave and earnest, yet his proposition was tre¬ 
mendous and incredible. 

“ Ye must be funnin’, sir-r,” she almost gasped. 

“ No; I am quite in earnest,” returned Frankland, 
smiling. “ What doubtless seems a great matter to 
you is but a trifle to me. I am rich, and can afford it.” 

“ But — but,” urged Agnes, bewildered, “ oi ha’ no 
toime; oi connot be sper-red; oi must be ear-rnin’ my 
bread V meat.” 

“ Silly girl, you can earn much more after you have 
been taught than you can ever do here scrubbing 
floors and drawing water.” 

“ Be ye sure o’ thet, sir-r ? ” she asked, impressed 
with this practical suggestion. 

“ Quite sure.” 

“ *T is loike the wor-rk o’ witches,” she muttered, 
casting a suspicious glance at Frankland as not 
unlike the kind of person who might be expected 
to vanish. “ What ’ll mother say ? ” she continued 


78 


AGNES STJRRIAGE. 


presently, her face flushed with excitement, her eyes 
dilated, and her whole mind centred on the amazing 
proposal she had just heard. “ What ’ll mother say 
now, oi wonder-r.” 

“ Go seek her out and ask,” said Frankland, gath¬ 
ering up his reins. “ Stay! Bring her here to the inn 
to see me after supper and we will talk of it further; 
but first, my good lass, go hunt up that loitering 
landlord of yours and bid him attend me.” 


CHAPTER VII. 


PARSON HOLYOKE IN CONSULTATION. 

ULY after supper, as Frankland was seated at 



JU/ ease in the little fore-room, Agnes came usher¬ 
ing in Goody Surriage with, — 

“ Here’s my mother, sir-r, come to see ye! ” 

Dame Surriage stood awkwardly courtesying in the 
doorway until encouraged by Frankland’s gracious 
greeting to enter. 

“Ye do us gret honor, sir-r, ’n’ ye wor very koind 
in the motter-r o’ the shoes t’ our Ag, ’n’ she ha’ been 
very choice o’ them.” 

“ Yes, something too choice,” said Frankland, 
glancing at the girl’s bare feet. 

“ Ah, they ’ll do her a long toime, sir-r, fur Lor-rd’s 
Day wear-r, ’n’ thet’s all she ha’ need o’.” 

“ Poh, poh! put them on and wear them out, 
and when they ’re gone send her up to me and she 
shall have some more ! ’T is a great pity, though, to 
see a bright lass like Agnes running about bare¬ 
footed and neglected ; she ought to be sent to 
school.” 

“ Ay, so she ought, sir-r, ’n’ oi worrnt ye she’d 
make a foine scholard too, wud our Ag: she ha’ ever 
been the forardest young un in the town, ’n’ the 
minister ’ll bear me out; she can say the psaums 


80 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


a’most as well as himself. Ag, show the gentleman 
how foine ye can say the psaums! ” 

44 Sh-h, mother; don’t ye be foolish, now!” pro¬ 
tested Agnes, with a shamefaced look. 

“ She’s ashamed, the silly gawk, to show off afore 
ye, sir-r, but Mister-r Holyoke ’ll tell ye; an’ she ha’ 
lor-rned to write her name out fair-r ’n’ lor-rge loike 
a clor-rk.” 

“ I can well believe it; and ’t is a great pity she 
should not have a chance to go on and study, since 
she learns so quickly.” 

“ So it is, sir-r; so it is.” 

“ I have been asking her how she would like to go 
and live in Boston.” 

44 Oi worrnt her she’d loike it; she wor ever eager 
to see str-range places.” 

44 But she fears you would not be willing to spare 
her,” continued Frankland, feeling his way. 

“ ’N’ why not ? Heaven for-rbid oi should stond 
in the way o’ th’ good fortune o’ my own choild.” 

“ Spoken like a sensible woman, dame ; now, then, 
listen to what I have to suggest. Your daughter, 
you may not know, has a remarkable voice — ” 

“ Oh, thet oi do, yer honor-r,” interrupted Goody 
Surriage with a knowing shake of the head, — “thet 
oi do, ’n’ her fother-r too, poor man! She ha’ been 
scr-reamin’ ’n’ squallin’ ’bout th’ house ever since she 
wor-r bor-rn tell we ha’ been well-nigh deafened.” 

“Very good. I was speaking of her singing the 
other day to Mrs. Shirley, one of my friends in 
Boston — ” 

44 The Governor’s leddy ? ” 


PARSON HOLYOKE IN CONSULTATION. 81 


“ Yes; and a very charitable gentlewoman she is. 
1 told her of the poor little fisher-lass whom I heard 
singing in the orchard and who had such a beautiful 
voice, and she was deeply interested, and at once 
offered to aid in having her trained.” 

“ Bless her good her-rt for’t, too! ” 

“For the small expense of her living and school¬ 
ing, I will gladly take that upon myself; while Mrs. 
Shirley would establish her in some good comfortable 
lodgings, and have an eye to her health and welfare.” 

“ Listen to thet, Ag ! Do you hear the gentlemon ? 
What ha’ ye to say, choild ? ” 

Agnes could only courtesy and stammer out with a 
red face: — 

“ Oi ha’ lost my tongue; speak you fur-r me, 
mother-r! ” 

“ Tut, tut! There’s no need of speaking yet. Wait 
till something is accomplished. If now your father —• 
you have a father ? ” 

“ Ay, Ed, — ha, ha! ” laughed Goody Surriage, 
confidently; “Ae’ll ha’ nothin’ to say, so Ag’s only 
well-fared’n’ content; but the minister, — we must 
get the minister’s moind; he ha’ hed th’ guidin’ o’ 
Ag since she wor-r a baby.” 

“ And does the good man live hereabouts ? ” asked 
Frankland. 

“Not a stone’s-throw away, sir-r, ’f yer honor-r 
moind not a bit of a walk.” 

“ Oh, then, pray bid the worthy parson come wait 
on me in the morning if he has any objections to 
offer,” interrupted Frankland, ignoring the dame’s 
suggestion. “But stay!” he continued, as the two 
6 


82 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


rose to withdraw. “You must not go without a song; 
sing to me, Agnes, the ditty I heard t’ other morning 
in the orchard ! ” 

Agnes, quite abashed at this unexpected request, 
did herself small credit; but her listener forgot to 
criticise minor defects in his delight over the rich 
vibrating tones of her marvellous voice. 

Betimes the next morning, before he had break¬ 
fasted, Frankland was told he had visitors. Finish¬ 
ing dressing at his leisure, the young gentleman 
sauntered down to find Dame Surriage and her pas¬ 
tor waiting in the fore-room. The Rev. Edward 
Holyoke, whose solid qualities of mind and charac¬ 
ter afterwards won for him the distinguished position 
of President of Harvard College, was noted even then 
among his brother ministers for his singular union of 
great gentleness of heart with austerity of demeanor 
and an ever-present sense of his own priestly dignity. 

For all his loftiness of character and elevation of 
mind, however, he was plainly somewhat discon¬ 
certed upon Frankland’s first appearance. The fine 
person of the young stranger, set oflf by the richness 
of his dress, his elegance of speech, and above all his 
easy, patronizing manners, were all so unusual to one 
who all his life had lived remote from the gay circles 
of rank and fashion, that it was impossible wholly to 
resist their influence. Frankland, on the other hand, 
who had been brought up to regard with ridicule and 
contempt the faith, the manners, and the very per¬ 
sons of the Puritans, felt neither awe nor reverence 
for his visitor’s professional character, and was pre¬ 
vented only by natural kindliness from betraying a 


PARSON HOLYOKE IN CONSULTATION. 83 

feeling which no canon of good breeding required 
him to conceal. 

“Good-morrow, dame, ,, he said with a pleasant 
nod of greeting to Goody Surriage, who stood bobbing 
before him. “ And so you have brought your worthy 
minister to talk with me. I am glad to see you, 
although you had well-nigh caught me in bed. Pray 
sit you down and let us be comfortable ! I suppose, 
sir,” he continued, turning to the parson, “ our good 
friend here has told you of our little plan to send her 
daughter to school. I hope you have come to ex¬ 
press your approval,” he concluded, coming straight 
to the point in the easiest way in the world. 

“ Ahem! ” exclaimed Mr. Holyoke, quite taken 
aback by this abrupt introduction of the subject, 
“ that I know not. I have come to confer with you 
upon a matter which seems, from the little I have 
heard, to be of a very extraordinary nature.” 

“ Ah! ” said the Collector carelessly, settling him¬ 
self more comfortably in his chair. 

“’Tis a grave matter, sending a young woman 
away from home among strangers. It must needs 
be a momentous change, moreover, and we would 
be fully persuaded it is to be a change for the 
better.” 

“ Very naturally,” remarked Frankland, busily ad* 
justing his lace ruffles. 

“ It behooves us to move with the greatest circum¬ 
spection.” 

“ Oh, without a doubt,” returned the young gen¬ 
tleman in the same tone of indifference, helping 
himself the while to a pinch of snuff from a jewelled 


84 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


box without extending the courtesy to his guests, 
thereby unconsciously indicating his sense of their 
disparity in rank. 

“ And in the first place,” continued Mr. Holyoke, 
who with recovered ease was gradually assuming his 
usual authoritative tone, “ it seems a step most un¬ 
precedented, and not without grounds of suspicion, 
te intrust a girl of Agnes’s tender years to the guid¬ 
ance of a man so young. I wish not to impugn 
your intent, sir — ” 

“ ’T is most considerate of you, truly,” interrupted 
Frankland, with a lofty look. 

“ But,” calmly pursued the minister, “ I would fain 
know the motives which lead a man of your rank to 
take such an interest in our child’s welfare.” 

“ They are briefly told,” answered Frankland, com¬ 
posedly. “ I come by chance to this out-of-the-way 
place and find a child of good wit and quick appre¬ 
hension growing up in ignorance and neglect. I 
chance to hear her sing. I discover that she has a 
rare and beautiful voice. It occurs to me ’t would 
be an act of charity to snatch the child out of her 
poverty and ignorance and give her a chance to culti¬ 
vate the powers God has endowed her with.” 

“It would seem a praiseworthy intent,” said the 
minister, reflectively, studying the young stranger the 
while with close attention. “But have you duly con¬ 
sidered, sir, that this step you propose may change 
her whole way of life ? ” 

“ And is her present way of life, then, so bloom¬ 
ing with promise, that a change would be deemed 
perilous ? u asked Frankland, coolly. 


PARSON HOLYOKE IN CONSULTATION. 85 


M I approve not entirely her present position,” 
answered the minister in a tone which showed that 
the satire had been wholly wasted upon him. “ She 
came hither without my cognizance ; but she leads 
here at least an honest and industrious life.” 

“ Hark ye, my friends,” exclaimed Frankland, ris¬ 
ing impatiently, whether irritated by the ungracious 
reception of his munificent offer or by the covert 
insinuation in the last speech, “ that we may not 
needlessly prolong this discussion, and that I may have 
an opportunity of breaking my fast before noon, let 
me say that if the girl comes to me she will be under 
the eye and patronage of the first lady of the prov¬ 
ince, as I have already advised her mother. If you 
be not content with that suggestion, go you up 
thither yourselves and make what arrangements 
suit you.” 

“Ay, ay, Mister-r Holyoke,” interposed Goody 
Surriage, taking alarm lest the matter should mis¬ 
carry ; “’t is the Gov’nor-r’s leddy her-rsel,’ as I told 
ye.” 

“ Or, if you choose to reject my offer,” continued 
the Collector in the same tone, “ pray consult among 
yourselves and let me know your will.” 

“ But Mrs. Shirley, sir,” persisted the minister, un¬ 
moved by the other’s irritation, — “ is she held to be 
ja Christian ? ” 

“ Assuredly ; she is a member of the Church of 
England, if haply you should consider that answers 
the description.” 

“ Why, in some small sense all those who acknowl¬ 
edge our blessed Lord and Saviour are loosely called 


86 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Christians; but the sort you speak of are mostly 
blinded with error and walk in gloom which is but 
little removed from outer darkness.” 

“ It may not be amiss to inform you that I grope in 
a like obscurity myself.” 

“ As I opined,” returned the minister, calmly in¬ 
vulnerable ; “ and for your comfort let me explain that 
I would not be understood as denying that there may 
be well-meaning persons among them.” 

“ Ay, to be sure ; why not ? ” chimed in Goody 
Surriage, anxiously ; “ oi ha’ known a bor-rn Papist, 
V she brought back a pur-rse she found in th’ 
road.” 

“ ’Tis a great charge you lay upon yourself,” pur¬ 
sued the minister, evidently not yet through with the 
subject, “ to assume such a heavy expenditure.” 

“ In your ignorance of my resources you must 
needs let me be the judge of that,” answered the 
Collector, shortly. 

“ True, I know not the measure of your wealth; 
but I reflect that if any mischance befall you, what 
then is to become of Agnes ? ” 

“ She would be in no worse condition than she 
is now, — dependent upon the labor of her own 
hands.” 

“ Ther’ ’t is; Mister Holyoke, what think ye o’ 
thet ? ” exclaimed Goody Surriage, who sat ner¬ 
vously see-sawing on the edge of her chair, divided 
in feeling between habitual awe of her pastor and a 
dread lest the negotiation fall through. 

“ Therein, it seems, you greatly err,” pursued the 
minister, unheeding her. “ Once surround the girl 


PARSON HOLYOKE IN CONSULTATION. 87 


with luxury and accustom her to idleness, and she 
will speedily become unfitted for the menial toil to 
which she is now so cheerfully resigned.” 

“ So much the better; she would then be fitted 
to gain her bread in other ways than by scullery- 
work.” 

Master Holyoke did not reply, but seemed absorbed 
in silent study of Frankland’s face. 

“ But,” continued the latter, advancing with the 
evident intent of putting an end to the interview, and 
drawing at the same time several guineas from his 
purse, “’t is easy to raise objections ; and since you 
are in the humor for it, consider the matter among 
yourselves and do as you will. Should you conclude 
to accept my offer, bring the girl to town at your con¬ 
venience ; and as the step must needs be attended 
with some expense, you will find here wherewithal 
to defray it.” 

He extended the money as he spoke toward Master 
Holyoke, but that scrupulous person made no move 
to receive it, saying, — 

“But if, on the contrary, we should decide not to 
send her —” 

“ Then give the money to the poor,” exclaimed the 
Collector, indifferently ; “ there must needs be widows 
and orphans in a seaport town like this.” 

“Humph!” said the minister, reflecting; “I have 
no right to refuse what may have been sent by Divine 
Providence; and so, young gentleman,” he continued, 
reluctantly taking the gold pieces, “in whatsoever 
way we may, after prayerful consideration, determine 
to apply your bounty, we shall pray that the divine 


86 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


blessing may attend our decision; and for you there 
will remain the consciousness of well-doing, which is 
higher than any earthly reward.” 

The Collector, already bored by the good clergy¬ 
man’s qualms and arguments, showed himself little 
impressed by this concluding benediction, but frankly 
yawning in their faces as he bowed his visitors out, 
hastened to his neglected breakfast. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE. 

TT ^as high noon on a bright October day several 
weeks after his visit to Marblehead, that Collector 
Frankland sat lolling over his official desk. Having 
signed clearances for one or two outgoing vessels, lis¬ 
tened to the complaints of divers discontented mer¬ 
chants, and digested some late instructions from the 
Home Government, he had duly despatched the more 
pressing business of the day, and now picked up the 
tiny sheet of the 44 Evening Post,” the previous day’s 
issue, wherein his roving eye presently lighted upon 
the following advertisement, which he proceeded to 
cut out: — 

44 A lusty, able-bodied white servant-man’s time of five 
years to be disposed of. Inquire of the Printer and know 
further.” 

His action with regard to the advertisement has no 
significance here save in so far as it would seem con¬ 
firmatory of current gossip in the town, that the home- 
loving and hospitable young Englishman was about 
to set up an establishment of his own. 

Throwing down the newspaper, and putting on his 
hat with the possible intent of going around to the 
sign of the 44 Heart and Crown ” in Cornhill and see¬ 
ing what Mr. T. Fleet the printer had to say further 


90 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


about the advertisement, he was met at the door by 
a clerk who came ushering in two droll-looking fig¬ 
ures,— Goody Surriage and Agnes in their holiday 
garb. 

“Ah, my pretty Agnes, is it you? Dame, I hope 
I see you well!” he exclaimed with genuine cor-i 
diality. “ So then you have really come at last. I 
had well-nigh given you up.” 

“Ay—ugh—we be roight glad to foind ye,” ex¬ 
claimed the dame, bobbing breathlessly before him. 
“ ’T is a puzzlin’ place, this town ; we ha’ been lost a 
ha-af scor-re toimes fro’ the wa-ar-rf hither. Ay, 
sir-r, oi thought not to ha’ been so long, but Mister-r 
Holyoke takes his own toime to make up his moind; 
then ther’ was all the makin’ ready, ’n’ it’s not ever-ry 
day we could ha’ the ketch.” 

“ You came by water, then ? ” 

“ Thet did we, ’n’ my goodman’s below yonder at 
th’ wa-ar-rf waitin’ agin oi go back.” 

“ And so, lassie,” continued Frankland, turning 
with a kindly look to Agnes, “ you have come up to 
try your fortunes in Boston ? ” 

“ Ay, sir-r; but oi’m thinkin’ what oi ’ll do when 
oi ’ll ha’ nobody here belongin’ to me,” returned 
Agnes, with a premonitory touch of homesickness. 

“ She’s loike a baby thet’s never-r been weaned,” 
explained Dame Surriage. 

“ Tut, tut! she ’ll be a stout-hearted, sensible girl; 
I ’ll answer for her,” said Frankland, encouragingly. 

“ But ’f oi ha’ nobody to speak to — ” 

“You will have me; I will look out that you do 
not get down-hearted.” 


THE GOVERNOR'S WIFE. 


91 


Agnes’ eyes kindled in spite of her dejection, and 
she looked up gratefully at this unexpected touch of 
kindness. 

44 You will have no time to get down-hearted,” pur¬ 
sued her benefactor. “You will have your music 
and your books to occupy you, and Mrs. Shirley — 
that reminds me; you must wait upon her without 
delay; I cannot go with you this morning. I will 
give you a note,” he continued, sitting down to his 
desk and rapidly writing a few words of introduction. 
44 But first,” he continued, rising, 44 you shall come 
with me and get some dinner, and I will send you out 
afterwards to the Governor’s house. William,” he 
cried to a servant, as they were leaving the room, 
“ order the coach to meet me in an hour at the 4 Ship 
Tavern.’ ” 

To that famous old ordinary in Hanover Street 
accordingly they repaired. 

“See,” cried Frankland, pointing to a huge crack 
running transversely down the facade, 44 there are still 
the marks of the earthquake.” 

44 My sinful her-rt! ” exclaimed Goody Surriage, 
gazing, 44 but ’t is an awful thing! ” 

The worthy skipper of the 44 Ship,” as the host was 
jocularly called, stared a little at the droll-looking 
guests his lavish young patron chose to entertain; but 
he failed not to bring forth his best for their use 
and serve the party with zealous attention. Agnes 
plainly felt more at home at the inn, and looked about 
with wonder and curiosity at all the new features in 
the fittings and service. As for Goody Surriage, 
she was so overcome with the honor of Frankland’s 


92 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


presence at the table that she could scarcely eat a 
mouthful. 

When they came out from dinner, there stood the 
Collector’s carriage already drawn up in front of the 
inn. And now poor Goody Surriage’s last scrap of 
presence of mind quite deserted her at the over¬ 
whelming thought of riding in that stately equipage 
with the coat-of-arms emblazoned on the panel and 
a coachman in resplendent livery on the box. She 
uttered some incoherent protests, made a vague and 
futile attempt to get up on the box with the coach¬ 
man, until a glance from the awful eye of that func¬ 
tionary deterred her. 

As for Agnes, she took no note of details, but fol¬ 
lowed after with a dazed look and an air as though 
she were moving through the unreal scenes of a 
dream. Constrained by her stiff, heavy shoes and 
holiday dress, she climbed clumsily into the coach, 
and in rapt unconsciousness encountered the stare 
of the passers-by, which her mother shrank into the 
farthest corner to escape. 

Arriving after a long drive at the Governor’s 
house, they mounted the granite steps, and pausing 
nervously to arrange their dress, at last timidly 
sounded the ponderous knocker. It required a 
second and indeed a third summons of that feeble 
sort to bring to the door the portly and leisurely 
flunky, who, having at length arrived, surveyed 
them with a chilling and critical glance, and was 
about to shut them out with the curt direction, — so 
often repeated that it was excusably shorn of undue 
ceremony, — that if they wanted to see his Excel- 



GOVERNOR SHIRLEY'S MANSION 








THE GOVERNOR'S WIFE. 


93 


lency they must go to the Province House, when 
Goody Surriage bethought her to bring forth the 
note. The experienced lackey, noting that the 
seal was impressed with a coat-of-arms, discreetly 
changed his tone, civilly bade them enter, bestowed 
them with all ceremony in the ante-room, and strolled 
away to find his mistress. 

Mrs. Shirley did not keep her humble visitors 
waiting. She came down directly with the note in 
her hand. 

“ So this is the singing-bird from Marblehead! — 
but Mr. Frankland told me not you were such a 
beauty, my dear,” she exclaimed, gazing at Agnes 
with undisguised admiration. “And this is your 
mother, I suppose? You are welcome, dame,” she 
continued, shaking hands graciously with Goody 
Surriage and then seating herself comfortably in a 
neighboring arm-chair, while the two stood respect¬ 
fully before her. “ And have you come all the way 
from Marblehead this morning ? ” 

“ Ay, an’ wi’ ease, ma’am,” returned the dame; “ ’t is 
no gret run wi’ a good wind.” 

“And this, then, is your first visit to Boston, child ? ” 
asked Mrs. Shirley, attentively studying her youthful 
visitor. 

“ Ay, ma’am,” stammered Agnes, painfully embar¬ 
rassed under such examination. 

“ Come with me, then, and you shall have a bird’s- 
eye view of the whole town!” said the observant 
hostess, leading the way to a room across the hall 
in order to give the girl time to recover her com¬ 
posure. “ See, yonder is Boston with all its steeples 


94 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


and windmills; and if you have keen eyes you may 
make out the beacon on the top of the Tramount! ” 

Agnes gazed with curiosity and delight upon the 
outspread panorama, while the shrewd matron and 
woman of the world narrowly scanned her uncon¬ 
scious face. 

“ ’ T is a gret city! ” exclaimed the neglected dame, 
peering over their shoulders. 

“Nay, ’tis not so very vast yet,” returned their 
hostess, smiling at the awe-struck tone. “We have 
but eighteen thousand souls, all told ; but’t is a snug, 
busy, little town for all that, and gives my husband 
more trouble to govern than all the rest of the 
province.” 

“ Ay; they wor ever-r a hoigh ’n’ moighty folk,” 
murmured the dame, absorbed with the view. 

“ Yes,” retorted her ladyship, sharply, “ not to say 
cavilling and contumacious; but,” she continued, 
suddenly recollecting herself and regarding Agnes 
with renewed attention, “ you are taller than I sup¬ 
posed, my child ; how old may you be, pray ? ” 

“Just tui-rned fifteen oi’m thinkin’,” answered 
Agnes, with an uncertain glance at her mother. 

“ She wor ever a str-roppin’ creatur’, ma’am,” ex¬ 
plained Goody Surriage, in apology for her size. 

“ There’s plenty of time to learn yet, then,” con¬ 
tinued their hostess, ignoring the maternal comment. 

“ An’ the for-rardest hussy in the town to lor-rn,” 
interposed the dame again. 

“ You have been to school, then ? ” 

“No,” said Agnes; “ ’twas the minister-r lor-rned 
me.” 


THE GOVERNORS WIFE. 


95 


“ It’s no gret motter-r she knows, ma’am, but she 
need make her mor-rk no longer-r, V she ha’ the 
psaums a’most by her-rt.” 

Agnes was spared further embarrassment by a wel¬ 
come interruption. There was a rushing sound out¬ 
side in the hall, with the noise of suppressed laughter, 
and directly a half-grown girl appeared in the door¬ 
way holding by the collar a large mastiff. 

“ Come here, my dear,” said Mrs. Shirley; “ I 
want you to know my visitors; this is my daughter,” 
she continued as the latter advanced ; “ and this, my 
dear, is Agnes, a friend of Mr. Frankland’s, who has 
come to go to school in Boston. I want you to be 
friends.” 

The two girls courtesied, — Agnes awkwardly, and 
the other with an easy and careless grace which 
marked the difference in their breeding. 

“ Can you not entertain us, my dear, with an air 
upon your harpsichord ? ” asked the mother. 

Without coyness or protestation the well-bred child 
went at once to the instrument and played. 

The fascination with which Agnes watched the 
young performer, and the delight, approaching rap¬ 
ture, with which she listened to the music, were care¬ 
fully noted by Mrs. Shirley. When the performance 
ended, Agnes was unable to repress a long-drawn 
sigh of appreciation. 

“ Would you like to learn the harpsichord yourself, 
Agnes ? ” asked Mrs. Shirley, kindly. 

“ Oh, oi cud never lor-rn to do thet! ” she re¬ 
turned, fixing upon the young player a look of 
unbounded wonder and admiration. 


96 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“Oh, yes, you can, my dear, if you are willing to 
study,” said her hostess, encouragingly; “ but now 
my daughter shall take you out and show you the 
garden, while I have a little talk with your mother.” 

The two girls, nothing loath, went off together and 
were soon heard laughing and talking at ease on the 
lawn outside, while Mrs. Shirley good-naturedly lis¬ 
tened to voluble details of Agnes’s birth and training 
from garrulous Goody Surriage. 

“ I see she has been a good child, and will live, I 
am sure, to be an honor and a blessing to you,” she 
said at length, rising to put an end to the interview. 
“ And now for the business in hand ; she had better 
remain for the present with me, until she feels herself 
a little at home and I can get her wardrobe in suit¬ 
able repair.” 

“ ‘ Her wa-ardrobe! ’ ” echoed the dame with proud 
satisfaction; “ rest yer-r her-rt easy on thet scor-re, 
ma’am! Ag ha’ th’ foinest outfit ever-r seen in Mar-r- 
blehead. Mister Fr-ronklon, he ha’ left behoind a 
gret stor-re o’ money, ’n’ oi ha’ sper-red no expense; 
she ha’ everythin’ o’ th’ foinest, not to mention my 
own best roquello oi hed when oi wor morried, — as 
good as new.” 

“Indeed!” exclaimed her new friend, controlling 
an impulse to smile, as she surveyed Agnes standing 
without on the lawn grotesquely attired in the ven¬ 
erable marriage-cloak of Goody Surriage, with clumsy 
brogans on her feet and her head crowned with an 
indescribable hood which would have made a guy of 
an angel. 

“ Ay,” continued the enthusiastic dame; “her for- 


THE GOVERNOR’S WIFE. 


97 


ther ha* huff’d ’n’ ding’d thet ther’ wor n’t a space in 
th’ house to sit him down, what wi’ Ag’s petticoats; 
’n’ Mister-r Holyoke ha’ taken me roundly to task 
thet oi sh’uld ha’ her head tur-rned wi’ foiner-ry.” 

“ I am glad to hear she is so well provided,” said 
Mrs. Shirley, gravely. “ Nothing remains, then, but 
to send her luggage hither until I can look up some 
suitable lodgings in which to bestow her.” 

“ ’T is most koind V obligin’ of ye, beyand ony- 
thin\ oi’m sure; but—but—’’stammered the embar¬ 
rassed dame, “ in the motter-r o’ the lodgin’s, Mister-r 
Holyoke ha’ writ to a fr-ren’ o’ his, ’n’ — ’n’ — ” 

“ I see,” interposed the shrewd matron, “ you have 
already secured lodgings for your daughter — ” 

“ But — but,” interrupted the anxious dame, “ ’tis 
agreed, ’tis agreed, moind, thet you ’n’ his honor 
shall ha’ the guidin’ o’ her, an’ ’f ye approve not the 
place, oi’ll make bold to wi’stond Mister-r Holyoke 
i’ the motter-r ’n’— ” 

“ By no means,” said Mrs. Shirley, graciously. 
“ Your clergyman has no doubt made choice of a 
suitable place; and if Mr. Frankland is content I 
can have no objection.” 

“But ye will not lose sight o’ Ag? She’ll be 
heavy at her-rt i’ this gret town wi’out home or 
mother-r.” 

“ Yes, yes, dame, rest assured I will not neglect 
her! I have promised Mr. Frankland my aid in his 
undertaking, and I shall not be wanting to my word 
as occasion serves.” 

“ Thonk ye, thonk ye, ma’am ! ’T will be a gret 
comfort to me at home to think Ag has some koind 
7 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


fren’ at hond; V the poor choild hersel’ ’ll be most 
moindful o’ yer-r goodness, ’n’ follow yer guidin’, ye 
may be sur-re. So now we must take our leave, afore 
the patience o’ yon grond gentlemon on the coach* 
box is clean gone.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE WIDOW RUCK. 


ORTH of the Mill-creek, in a substantial brick 



1 ^1 house, the eastern gable of which abutted 
upon Tileston Street, lived the Widow Ruck. The 
ample size of her dwelling and the thrifty appearance 
of her large garden, which covered a space now occu¬ 
pied by several modern brick blocks, bespoke a com¬ 
fortable worldly estate in the owner. Why Mrs. 
Ruck should have resented this natural inference is, 
at this distance of time, not clear; but certain it is 
she let slip no chance of discrediting such a presump¬ 
tion, whether by verbal protest or more effectively 
by the exercise at all times of a rigorous economy. 
There were not wanting insinuations among her con¬ 
temporaries that the widow’s thrift exceeded the 
due bounds of frugality, and had developed in the 
course of years into a trait less admirable. It be¬ 
hooves us, however, on such a point, to reject what 
may have been mere neighborly backbiting, and as- 
an historical character accord to Mrs. Ruck the priv¬ 
ilege of being judged by her own words and acts as 
they are left to us. 

To offset these injurious reflections, it is but fair to 
add that, as a member in unimpeachable standing of 
the North Congregation, she was noted, not only for 


100 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the strictest justice in her dealings, but generally for 
the austere correctness of her life. In the religious 
community, indeed, she was a leader, equipped for her 
position, not so much by superior intelligence, ex¬ 
traordinary foresight, or unusual penetration, as by a 
force more availing, to wit, strength of conviction. 
Her strength in this way was enormous. Within 
human limitation it may safely be called absolute, 
and was emphasized rather than disguised by habit¬ 
ual reticence. Her outward person was so in keep¬ 
ing with these characteristics as to suggest that the 
inworking forces had gradually moulded it to this 
harmonious semblance. She wore a serene, assured, 
but long-suffering look, very difficult to describe ; 
more like, perhaps, the expression of chronic and con¬ 
scious martyrdom than anything else. A very no¬ 
ticeable trait in her face was a deep, lateral furrow 
across the forehead intersected at right angles by her 
heavy upturned eyebrows. For the rest, the lines 
of her face were downward; her nose was straight, 
her mouth sufficiently firm, and her chin not so em¬ 
phatic as might have been expected. 

A person of this sort is not apt to be found want¬ 
ing in a crisis. It is accordingly matter of history 
that in the memorable quarrel of the day which 
rent the North Congregation, the widow was the 
backbone of the Gee faction. She not only stood 
by her pastor, she led him on. Firm against all at¬ 
tempts at conciliation or compromise, she was one of 
the inflexible, victorious few who held the wavering 
body of conservatives in hand, and ultimately drove 
their antagonists from the field. 


THE WIDOW RUCK. 


101 


In vain the Rev. Samuel Mather, recognizing the 
animating spirit of the opposition, went around to Tiles- 
ton Street to expostulate and pray with his stubborn 
adversary. In mechanical deference to the attitude of 
prayer, the widow laid down her knitting, rose, and 
shut her eyes; but for all other effect upon her, the fer¬ 
vent supplication poured forth by her ingenious visitor 
might as well have been addressed to Buddha. 

Naturally enough Mrs. Ruck’s house, being within 
a stone’s-throw of the sanctuary, became a favorite 
rallying-place for all the meetings and conferences 
growing out of the warfare. This was partly the 
result of her leadership, and partly, as her neighbors 
said, because it never seemed to inconvenience the 
widow to have meetings, with her small and well- 
ordered household, — there being besides herself only 
her daughter Mercy in family. 

Mercy Ruck, moreover, was no infant. Her salad 
days were already over. The fact that she had re¬ 
mained single in an age when spinsterhood was al¬ 
most unknown has been unjustly ascribed to certain 
physical peculiarities, which it would be ungracious, 
as it is happily unnecessary, to describe. To a nar¬ 
row circle, however, the truth was known that even 
poor Mercy’s life had not been without its touch of 
romance; that years before she had indeed been 
formally betrothed to a thriftless ne’er-do-well, who, 
having taken to drinking and other evil courses, 
,had at length been forbidden the house by the in¬ 
dignant widow. There was, moreover, a profane 
story afloat, that on the memorable night of his 
dismissal the widow, after sharply upbraiding the 


102 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


incorrigible man, thrust him forth at last with the 
parting benediction : — 

“ Go, and never let me set eyes on you again ! 
Go, and may the Lord have mercy — ” 

“ All right; let — hie — let him have her ! No — 
hie — nobody else will! ” 

And so the ribald scoffer went his way, — a very 
bad way too, as it proved,—and Mercy’s yearning 
heart was given over to the worm of concealment, 
which did its fell work on her maiden hope, and 
preyed at will upon the scant damask of her cheek. 
The scoffer’s words proved true. The weary years 
rolled round and brought not his successor. Mean¬ 
time, save for the religious meetings above described, 
life in the Ruck household was one unvarying round 
of leaden hours, linked to some menial and fore- 
allotted task, and leaving no record of their flight 
save in its accomplishment. 

One day this domestic treadmill was suddenly 
stopped: Mrs. Ruck received a letter. In itself, a 
letter was an event; this letter was much more, — it 
contained a startling proposition. 

“ ’T is a most strange proceeding of Master Hol¬ 
yoke,” said the widow, reading the letter for the 
twentieth time. “ I know not what maggot pricked 
him to do it.” 

“Perhaps ’tis some kin of his own,” suggested 
Mercy. 

“ To take a stranger into my house! — it is not to 
be thought of,” continued the widow, unheeding her 
daughter’s remark. “ How do I know what sort she 
is of, and whether she has Christian bringing-up ? ” 


THE WIDOW RUCK. 


103 


“ But if he commends her — ” 

“ And if he does, — what matters a man’s com¬ 
mendation ? What knows he of her habits, — whether 
they be cleanly, whether she will not cast every¬ 
thing out of order, leave open the doors, track in 
slime from the highway, and break the china? I 
care nothing for such commending.” 

“ But she may not be of that sort,” pleaded Mercy, 
to whom the prospect of having a youthful addition 
to their household seemed not so unpleasant. u ’T is 
a chance she may be well-behaved.” 

“ Fudge ! ” said the widow, emphatically. u ’T is 
an outlandish place yonder she comes from, and the 
people are a wild set; they have long had a bad 
name. No; I ’ll have nothing to do with her ! ” 
During this last speech there had been heard a 
heavy rumbling in the street. With the unconscious 
habit of making the most of her small opportunities, 
Mercy had mechanically gone to the window, and 
now turned about with a startled look. 

u Here’s a grand coach drawn up before the door, 
and — a fine young gentleman getting out; and — 
my soul V body! Mother! Mother ! He’s corn¬ 
in’ in ! ” 

Both women unconsciously fingered their hair and 
smoothed their aprons, — the widow casting mean¬ 
time a critical glance about the room. 

“ There are three of them ; he has two women 
with him. ’T is nobody we know ! ” exclaimed 
Mercy, taking another hurried peep and cautiously 
retreating. 

Directly the brass knocker sounded, and a mo- 


104 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ment after the visitors were ushered into the living- 
room. To Mercy, who stood near the door in a 
helpless state of uncertainty whether to fly or to 
stay, Frankland, deceived by her unimposing appear¬ 
ance, handed his hat on entering. She, interpreting 
this perhaps as a delicate attention, held fast to the 
hat during the interview, gently smoothing it, from 
time to time, with a caressing movement, and regard¬ 
ing its owner with speechless admiration. 

“ Have I the honor of addressing Mrs. Ruck ? ” he 
asked, with an air of indifference. 

The widow courtesied stiffly, and adjusted the im¬ 
maculate strings of her mob-cap. 

“We have come, then — that is, this good woman 
has an errand with you. Dame, speak for yourself! ” 
he said, stepping aside to make way for Goody 
Surriage. 

“ Will you please to be seated ? ” said the widow, 
with grave politeness, settling back, the while, into 
her own chair, and folding her hands in her lap. 

“Ay!” exclaimed Dame Surriage, perching her¬ 
self upon the edge of the nearest chair. “ Mister-r 
Holyoke ha’ told ye, beloike. It’s fur-r our-r Ag, 
ther’. She ha’ come up hither-r to be made a schol- 
ar-rd; ’n’ our-r teacher-r ha’ commended ye fur the 
roight sor-rt to take care o’ the poor choild. Only, 
oi thought not’t would be so gr-rond a place,” con¬ 
tinued the dame, looking about with frank admira¬ 
tion. “ Oi never-r thought to see a choild o’ moine 
lodg’d loike this! ” 

“ Master Holyoke has done me great honor,” 
answered the widow, coldly, “ of which I trust I 


THE WIDOW RUCK. 105 

am not unmindful; but in the matter you propose I 
cannot oblige him.” 

“ Eh, ma’am ! ” exclaimed Goody Surriage in loud¬ 
mouthed dismay at this unexpected blow; “ ye will 
not ha’ her?” 

“I grieve to say,” returned Mrs. Ruck, shaking 
her head emphatically, “it is quite out of the 
question.” 

“ Mer-rcy upon us! the fat is all in the foire! ” 
cried the amazed fishwife; “ but,” she continued, 
turning to make one more appeal, “ ’f ye knew what 
a koind ’n’ loight-her-rted creatur’ she is, our Ag—” 

“I have heard her good qualities rehearsed by 
Master Holyoke,” returned the widow, scanning 
Agnes with a keen and by no means prepossessed 
air; “but I care not to take a stranger into my 
family.” 

“ Ther’ now yer roight; a str-raunger’s one thing, 
but our Ag — ” 

“ My household,” continued the widow, without 
heeding the interruption, “is ordered after time- 
honored rules which I could not suffer to be set 
aside.” 

“An’ d’ye think, ma’am, Ag Surriage is apt to 
tur-rn ye topsy-tur-rvy ? ” 

“It would, moreover,” pursued Mrs. Ruck, quite 
oblivious of the dame’s dramatic interjections, “ be a 
great care and responsibility which at my age I air 
not willing to undertake.” 

“ Ay, but — ” 

“Enough, enough, dame; let’s have done!” inter¬ 
posed Frankland, who perhaps after ten minutes' 


106 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


careful study of the mistress of the house was not 
displeased the negotiations should fail. “ ’T is use¬ 
less to press the matter since Mrs. Ruck is unwilling. 
Come, let us say good-day, then, for we have no 
time to lose.” 

“ Tt—tt—tt!” exclaimed Goody Surriage, making 
with her tongue against the roof of her mouth a 
significant sound of regret; “’t is a gr-ret — a gr-ret 
pity, when Ag ud be out o’t most por-rt o’ the 
toime at school, V his honor-r ther’ stonds ready to 
pay ony pr-riceat a’ fur-r her lodgin’,—tt—tt—tt!” 

“Ahem!” coughed the widow, with a sudden 
change of countenance. “ I knew not — that is, ’t is 
you, then, sir,” turning to the Collector, “ who are 
to be chargeable for — for— ” 

“ All costs and expenses,” said Frankland, finishing 
the halting sentence; “ but since we have your an¬ 
swer,” he continued, taking his hat from the reluctant 
Mercy, “ there is no need to trespass further on your 
patience.” 

“But I — pardon me — I knew not the matter 
was so urgent. If there be — that is — I fain would 
discuss it more at length,” stammered Mrs. Ruck, 
rubbing her nose with an air of discomfiture. 

“ To what purpose, ma’am, since your mind is made 
up?” 

“There might be—I am not wont to despatch 
affairs of moment in so brief a fashion; I spoke in 
haste and upon first impression.” 

“ Ay, ay! ” interposed Goody Surriage, rendered 
very anxious by Frankland’s move to go ; “ hor-rken 
now, yer honor-r, she be goin’ to say somethin’ I ” 


'HE WIDOW RUCK. 


107 


“ If,” pursued the widow, with a watchful eye upon 
Frankland, “as ’tis said, the girl is to be absent so 
much of the time at school, why, it puts the matter 
upon a new basis, and there is good ground for re¬ 
consideration.” 

“ Ground there may be,” returned Frankland, with 
ill-controlled impatience, “but very brief time for it; 
the question must needs be settled out of hand.” 

“ Thet must it,” interposed Goody Surriage, “ fur 
my goodman is waiting below in the ketch, and must 
set sail before sundown ; but oi budge not a foot fro* 
this town till Ag ha’ a roof over-r her head, oi 
worrnt ye.” N 

The widow fidgeted in her chair, and cast a cal¬ 
culating look at Agnes. 

“If you have nothing further to say — ” began 
Frankland, chafing at the delay. 

“ Why, sir, I like not such urgency.” 

“ There is no help for it, madam.” 

“Such being the case,” said the widow, hesitat¬ 
ingly, “and in consideration of Master Holyoke, 
whom I should grieve to disoblige, I will so far run 
counter to all my habits and prejudices as to receive 
her on probation and under proper conditions.” 

“ That will not do,” said Frankland, firmly. 

“You cannot expect me to undertake such a 
charge without limit; and there must needs be 
terms, sir, I suppose,” retorted the widow, dissem¬ 
bling with effort her vexation. 

“ Assuredly ; and they shall be briefly these: you 
shall receive Miss Surriage — ” 

A slight blush passed over Agnes’s face at the first 


108 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


use of this honorary title in connection with hei 
name, and she cast a deprecating look at the widow, 
who was too intent on the Collector to heed her. 

“ — here present, into your family, give her the 
best your house affords, both in fare and lodging, 
and see to it, moreover, that she has at all times due 
attendance ; for all which you shall be promptly paid 
any fit sum you may choose to demand.” 

“ Hor-rken ye to thet, ma’am ! What ha’ oi told 
ye ? ” exclaimed Goody Surriage, triumphantly. 

“For the rest,” continued Frankland, peremp¬ 
torily, “you are to have nothing to do with her 
movements. She is to come and go at her own free 
will, and order her life after the advice of the friends 
here in town who have her education in charge.” 

Mrs. Ruck was silent, and bit her lips with chagrin. 
The conversation had taken a very unexpected turn. 
Having the game at first entirely in her own hands, 
she had seen it pass into those of her strange visitors. 
Quite without precedent, she found herself submitting 
quietly to dictation; yet, under the pressure of a still 
stronger passion than resentment, she curbed her 
temper and held her tongue. 

“Do you accede to these terms, madam?” asked 
the Collector, after a moment’s silence. 

u The measure of compensation seems not to have 
been included,” answered the widow, evasively. 

“ That remains for you to fix; pray you name it at 
once.” 

“ I would not undertake such a charge, sir,” began 
the widow, with a gleam of triumph in her eye, 
“short of four guineas a month.” 


THE WIDOW RUCK . 


109 


“You shall have it,” said the Collector, quietly. 

“ Eh ! I — you — ” stammered Mrs. Ruck, aghast at 
the instant acceptance of her extortionate demand. 

“I accept the terms, and the bargain is settled. 
So now, dame,” — to Goody Surriage,— “ set your 
heart at rest, and go home in peace, to report to your 
parson ! And you, madam,” — to Mrs. Ruck, — 
“please hold yourself in readiness to receive your 
new lodger this very night. Come, lass,” — to Ag¬ 
nes, — “ let us go and see about your luggage.” 

The three accordingly bowed and courtesied them¬ 
selves out, leaving the discomfited widow to repent 
her own short-sightedness in not charging them 
double the price for her lodgings. 


CHAPTER X. 


“FINE FEATHERS.” 

w T)RAY you have patience a minute more,ma’am; 

-L there needs a knot of ribbon here yet, and 
that curl in the neck is to be lowered, — so ; there, 
now, ’t is done at last! I can go no further. 
Madam will not hear of powder, she thinks you too 
young; but had I my own way, trust me, I’d 
whiten your head to the hue of chalk, the better to 
set off that pair of shining black eyes. Ay, and clap 
a bouncing patch here under the left temple to draw 
notice to the blooming roses on your cheek. Oh, 
my, ma’am,” continued the enthusiastic abigail, 
drawing back to study the effect of her handiwork, 
“ what a beauty I could make of you! ” 

Agnes rose from the seat where she had been sit¬ 
ting submissively under the manipulation of Mrs. 
Shirley’s maid, and posed for a final review before 
the critical gaze of that experienced tire-woman. 

“ In my own humble judgment, ma’am, your hoop 
is too small by half; one gets but a scant glimpse of 
your ankles; and, with all due respect to my mistress, 
your canary gown would be better set off with a 
petticoat of puce-color than that washed-out blue, 
though’t is as fine a bit of brocade as one would wish 


“FINE FEATHERS: 


111 


to see. Hark! ” she cried, stopping suddenly to lis¬ 
ten ; “ there goes mistress’s bell, and she ’ll not bear 
to be kept waiting. Deary me! but I’d give all my 
old shoes to hear her cry out when first she claps eye 
on you.” 

Left to herself, Agnes approached the mirror and 
stood gazing dumfounded at the change which had 
been wrought in her appearance. Scarcely did she 
recognize her own form and features. From the 
dowdy fisher-girl of an hour before she had been 
transformed, as with the waving of a wand, into the 
semblance of a woman of fashion. 

With the natural ingenuous delight of the butter¬ 
fly newly come forth from its chrysalis, she fluttered 
her finery and spread wide the wings of her glory. 
Turning this way and that, peeping curiously over 
her shoulder to get every effect of her beautiful 
draperies, now advancing, now retreating, with sober 
or with mincing step, to the music of her pattering 
little heels, she passed a half-hour of purely feminine 
rapture. Turning then with lips still wearing a smile 
of pleased vanity, her eye fell by chance upon her own 
simple dress thrown in a heap upon a neighboring 
chair. In a flash, forgetful of finery and furbelows, 
she flung herself upon the floor, and burying her 
face in those coarse garments broke into a violent fit 
of weeping. 

Presently the door opened and Mrs. Shirley en¬ 
tered. Her first look of astonishment gave place 
instantly to one of entire comprehension of the scene. 
Stooping to put her arm about the sobbing girl, she 
said quietly: — 


112 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“If you would like better, my child, you shall 
wear your own gown.” 

“No,” cried Agnes, starting up; “por-rdon me, 
ma’am ! oi meant not to blubber-r. ’T is a grond 
V a beautifu’ gown; oi thonk ye ’n’ his honor-r fur’t, 
’n’ fur a’ yer koindness.” 

“ You must remember, too, that we are all your 
friends here.” 

“ Oi do; thet oi do, mor-rnin’ ’n’ noight. Oi know 
not what ails me; ’t was somethin’ come over-r me 
sudden loike. Oi thought o’ th’ old place ’n’ mother-r 
’n’ the young uns ’n’ Job, ’n’ a’ at once it made a 
baby o’ me.” 

“ It does credit to your heart, my child. I would 
not have you forget your old home and friends. I 
would have you often think of them, but not with 
tears.” 

“ No, oi ’ll blubber-r no mor-re ; oi ha’ nuthin’ to 
blubber-r for. Yer moinded to make a leddy o’ me ; 
oi know not what’ll come o’t, but,” she concluded 
with a touch of pride, “ oi ’ll try to gi’ ye no cause to 
repent yer pur-rpose.” 

“That’s right, my child. Be faithful to the duties 
God has allotted you, and you will have no cause for 
tears or unhappiness,” returned Mrs. Shirley, study¬ 
ing with a gratified sidelong glance the details of 
Agnes’s toilet while she mechanically pronounced 
this moral truism. “ But come,” she suddenly con¬ 
cluded ; “ Mr. Shirley arrived a good half-hour ago, 
and will grow impatient for his supper. Let us go 
down.” 

Thus speaking, she led the way out of the cham- 


FINE feathers: 


113 


ber upon an open gallery running around three sides 
of the great hall, which, rising from the floor to the 
very roof, occupied the main body of the house. On 
the remaining side the wall was broken by large win¬ 
dows and folding-doors of glass, which afforded a wide, 
unbroken prospect of the distant sea. In the corner 
a staircase with an elegantly carved balustrade led 
down to the lower story. 

“ Walk about here for a space and look out of the 
windows until you dry your eyes, my dear,” said Mrs. 
Shirley, when they reached the floor of the hall; “ and 
I will come for you presently.” 

Passing on herself to a small ante-room on the right 
of the vestibule, she found his Excellency had brought 
home a guest to supper. 

Agnes meantime walked up and down the great 
hall in the waning light, recovering from her emotion 
and getting used to the constraint of her new finery. 
She had now been a guest in the Governor’s mansion 
for more than a week. Mrs. Shirley having found her 
at the Widow Ruck’s in a doleful state of dumps, with 
motherly kindness brought her straightway home to 
the more cheerful atmosphere of a large and bustling 
household. Here, despite Goody Surriage’s assur¬ 
ances, the opportunity, as we have seen, had been 
improved of providing her a wardrobe more in keep¬ 
ing with her new sphere of life. 

Her reverie was presently disturbed by a servant 
passing through the hall to announce supper; and 
directly afterwards Mrs. Shirley came ushering in 
the two gentlemen on their way to the dining-room. 

“See!” she cried, with a touch of playfulness, 
8 


114 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


leading them towards Agnes, who stood motionless 
in the midst of the hall, 44 I have a surprise in store 
for you, — a young lady to supper. Will it please 
your Excellency to be presented, — and you, Mr. 
Ifrankland ? ” 

Both gentlemen made profound congees before the 
stately figure of the young girl outlined like a silhou¬ 
ette against the great window. Before any one 
could speak, the butler threw wide open the door 
of the dining-room, and the blaze of the chandelier 
within fell full upon the little group. 

44 Agnes! ” cried Frankland, breathless with aston¬ 
ishment. 

44 Impossible ! ” ejaculated the Governor. 

44 Quite possible,” cried his wife, laughing; “ but 
enough of this scrutiny. Come, my dear,” she con¬ 
tinued, passing her arm about the embarrassed girl, 
44 they shall stare at you no more ; we will give them 
something better to do.” 

But supper proved an insufficient distraction. 
Both those polished gentlemen sadly forgot their 
manners, and so shamelessly scanned the blushing 
maiden, that her hostess at last mercifully found 
some pretext to excuse her from the table. 

44 Fie, gentlemen ! ” she cried, when Agnes was 
gone. 44 Could you not let the poor child have her 
supper in peace ? ” 

44 Why, if you bring such a siren to the table,” 
protested her husband, 44 you must take the conse¬ 
quences.” 

44 This proves the adage that 4 fine feathers make 
fine birds.’ Here has she been sitting under your 


FINE feathers: 


115 


very eyes for a week and you have not deigned to cast 
so much as a look at her.” 

“ I did note her eyes were fine,” pleaded his Ex¬ 
cellency, “ though they were for the most part down¬ 
cast ; but as for her figure, it was as well hidden 
in those duds she wore as a statue in a block of 
marble.” 

“ I would humbly apologize for my own ill- 
breeding,” said Frankland ; “ but indeed I was quite 
lost in amazement.” 

“ You are acquitted, and justified too. She is a 
great beauty ; it well-nigh took my own breath, I 
assure you, when I first beheld her.” 

“ She has not her match in the province,” ex¬ 
claimed the Governor, enthusiastically. “ Indeed, for 
such combined perfections of face and figure I pro¬ 
fess never to have seen her equal, save,” he added, as 
he caught the keen eye of his spouse fixed upon him, 
“ always, of course, one who — ” 

“ A timely exception, sir,” interrupted his wife, 
nodding demurely ; “ but now, Mr. Frankland, we 
must set to work straightway to untwist that abomi¬ 
nable br-r-r from her tongue.” 

“ I will go in search of a tutor to-morrow,” said the 
Collector. 

“You need not; for here is the very man for your 
purpose. Listen,” cried his hostess, drawing from her 1 
pocket a copy of the “ Evening Post ” and reading 
the following advertisement: — 

“ Mr. Peter Pelham, who has been from Boston these 
nine years past under the tuition of accomplished professors 
in the art of music, is now returned and ready to attend 


116 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


ladies and gentlemen as a tutor in that art on the harpsi¬ 
chord and spinet, or offers his attendance at his father’s 
house (or school) in Leverett’s Lane, near King’s Street, to 
teach the rudiments of psalmody, Hymns, Anthems, etc.” 

Frankland readily accepted the suggestion, and 
next day accordingly went with Agnes to wait upon 
Master Pelham, whom they found in very comfortable 
quarters close by a little inlet long ago filled up and 
built over with the solid and stately buildings which 
line the present Congress Street. 

Master Pelham, to Agnes’s great relief, proved 
by no means a formidable person. During his long 
residence abroad, moreover, he had acquired, it seems, 
besides his music and his polished manners, divers 
other accomplishments; for he took occasion to 
announce to them that he was presently to open a 
small and very select class in dancing, after the 
method taught in the French capital. 

He readily undertook the charge of Agnes’s musical 
studies; and furthermore, at Frankland’s whispered 
request, engaged specially to train her in correct and 
elegant enunciation. Arrangements were also made 
that the head usher in his father’s school, under the 
same roof, should give her private instruction in 
writing, reading, and casting accounts. As she was, 
moreover, to join the class in dancing, and begin the 
study of drawing under Master Pelham himself, every 
provision seemed to have been made to fit her in 
time to cope with the most accomplished fine ladies 
of the day. 

To all these details Agnes paid little heed; her 
eyes were fixed with engrossing interest upon th* 


“FINE FEATHERS 


117 


harpsichord, and her mind filled with delight at the 
thought that she was to be taught the magic art of 
using it. 

After leaving Master Pelham’s, as she had finished 
her visit at the Shirleys’, Frankland conducted her 
back to Mrs. Ruck’s, prepared on the morrow to 
enter upon the duties and difficulties of her ne\tf 
life. 


CHAPTER XI. 


LIFE AT TILESTON STREET. 

HATEVER chagrin the Widow Ruck may 



V V have felt at not making a better bargain 
with Frankland was set down by that conscientious 
person to the account of moral discipline, and not 
suffered to abate, by a jot or tittle, the fullest meas¬ 
ure of justice in her dealings with Agnes. The new 
lodger was duly installed in the best chamber in the 
house, but not, however, before she had been pro¬ 
foundly impressed with its peculiar sanctity. 

“ This room has not been used,” explained the 
widow, as she ushered Agnes into the darkened 
chamber, “ since my late beloved husband deceased 


here.” 


“ Eh! ” exclaimed the startled girl, stopping on 
the threshold, and looking timorously about in the 
dim nooks and corners. 

“Note the furniture,” continued the widow; 
“ there’s nothing like it in the house! That tester- 
bed— come closer, that you may see — was my own 
great-grandmother’s, and brought over from Eng¬ 
land ; mark the curious carving of the posts! This 
silken comforter was quilted by my mother, and 
stuffed — lift it in your hand — with eider-down ; 
the like is not to be had now for love nor money. 


LIFE AT TILESTON STREET. 


119 


The bed is of live-geese feathers,” continued the 
enthusiastic housewife, giving it a probative poke, 
“ bequeathed to me by my late grandmother, who 
herself passed away upon it.” 

“ But,” interposed Agnes in faltering tones, “ ha’ 
ye no other-r place to lodge me ? Oi — oi’d loike 
better-r ye gev me some bit o’ a room wher’ — ” 

“ The sheets,” pursued the widow, turning down 
the upper one and passing it between her experienced 
thumb and finger, “ are of the best linen, of my own 
spinning, and have been laid up in lavender these 
twenty years. Yonder chest of drawers was fetched 
by my uncle, a ship-captain, from foreign parts, forty 
years ago, and not a scratch on it yet; and this table 
of satin-wood,” she went on, giving it a passing dust 
with her apron, — “ you may see your face in it almost 
as well as the mirror above, which is of the finest 
French plate,” she concluded, knuckling the glass. 

“ Ay, ay,” murmured the awe-struck lodger ; “ but 
oi’ll ha’ some chaumber-r thet’s not so gr-rond.” 

“No,” returned the widow, firmly ; “’twas con¬ 
tracted you should have the best; and here it is, at 
your service.” 

“ But — but,” stammered Agnes, “ ther’s no 
knowin’ at a’ what hor-rm oi moight do here.” 

“If you take heed —proper heed,” returned Mrs. 
Ruck, marking the emphatic word with a nod of her 
head and a tightening of her lips, “ you need do no 
harm ; but once begin to cast things out of order and 
knock them about, and they ’ll soon go to destruction.” 

Thus warned, the hapless lodger took possession. 
For weeks she entered the awful chamber with bated 


*20 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


breath, tiptoed about in the brooding twilight, scarce 
daring to lay hand upon the precious furniture, and 
climbed at night into the bed sanctified by the mortal 
release of Mrs. Ruck’s progenitors, with fear and 
trembling. 

Daily use, however, makes sad havoc of awe, as of 
divers other cobwebs of the imagination. The free 
and independent spirit of the young fisher-girl soon 
rose above the thraldom of mere things. Deeply 
concerned with certain vital questions relating to her 
new life, she presently forgot the grandeur of her 
room, and from the hour when she reached the point 
of daring to fling wide the shutters and let in the 
light of day, began to feel at home in it. On the 
second story and southeast corner of the house, it 
commanded a wide and picturesque view. To the 
north, beyond the estuary of the Charles, lay the 
sloping hills of Noddle’s Island, rich now in their 
dress of autumnal browns. On the hither shore the 
eastern coast-line of the peninsula writhed in and 
out like a vast terminal serpent from North Point on 
the left to the Old Sconce on the right and Windmill 
Point in the farther distance. Before the southern 
windows, obstructed only by an occasional two-story 
building on Hanover Street, lay outspread the South 
End from the Town Dock to far-off Frog Lane, brist¬ 
ling with the many characteristic features of provin¬ 
cial Boston, — the fine new hall just given by the 
munificent Faneuil; the Town House ; the frowning 
fortifications of Fort Hill; the shabby little King’s 
Chapel; a chance angle of the old stone jail, seen be¬ 
tween a projecting corner of the “Manifesto Church” 


LIFE AT TILESTON STREET . 


121 


and the roof of the “ Old Cocked Hat; ” the towering 
steeple of the Old South; the royal colors flying above 
Deacon Shem Drowne’s Indian image on the distant 
Province House; and last, but not least, farther to 
the west, looming up in virgin wildness, triple-peaked 
Beacon Hill, over which Agnes used to watch the days 
fade away in varying gloom or splendor as she sat 
and mused upon the changed conditions of her life; 
mused upon the past, now so long ago, not without 
a pang at the thought of her last parting with Job; 
mused haply until all pangs and regrets faded from 
her heart with the incoming of other and sweeter 
thoughts, — thoughts of the present and of the future, 
bringing a strange soft lustre to her eye and deepen¬ 
ing the tender glow upon her cheek. 

Such thoughts it may have been which carried her 
scathless through all the rigor and discipline of the 
Ruck household, where her transgressions were of 
course frequent. 

“What is here?” the widow had at first almost 
daily occasion to cry “ Mercy, is it you who have 
come in with foul feet and besmirched the floor to 
this filthy state?” 

The innocent Mercy, who had never in her life 
dared commit such an offence, would look up and 
stammer, “I — I knew not that I did.” 

“ Come here, then, and see! A brute beast would 
know better; look! ’Tis fitter work for a shovel 
than the mop! ” 

“Beloike ’tis oi ha’ done it,” Agnes would at 
length exclaim, with reluctant but heroic candor; for 
the widow’s wrath was not to be lightly encountered. 


122 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


On the other hand, Mrs. Ruck, whether withheld 
by thoughts of the peremptory young gentleman 
down in the Custom House, of the watchful, keen¬ 
eyed matron yonder in Roxbury, or by certain indi¬ 
cations of a fearless, intractable spirit in the offender 
herself, took care not to brandish too constantly the 
rod of discipline, even over the vicarious shoulders of 
uncomplaining Mercy. 

The widow, however, knew how to lighten without 
thundering, and Agnes soon grew weatherwise in 
facial signs. Nor was discipline of this modified sort 
unwholesome; the exquisite neatness of Mrs. Ruck’s 
household and the habits of cleanliness she inculcated 
were no superfluous features in the training of the 
neglected fisher-girl. Neither did Agnes prove an 
inapt pupil. Keenly sensible of her own defects, she 
was ever on the alert to take advantage of any hint 
that could further her progress. All her surround¬ 
ings thus became educational influences of differing 
values. But among these various incentives none 
wrought perhaps a more immediate and profound 
moral effect than her personal finery. To live up 
to the standard of her hoops and damask, of her 
laces and brocades, to sustain herself at the perilous 
social elevation to which she had been lifted by her 
pattering little heels, became a controlling purpose 
of her life, and, in certain senses, a natural and 
noble aim. 

The impulse to all this had been given by Frank- 
land, consciously or unconsciously, in that moment 
when he had thrust down the barriers of caste and 
called her up to a higher social plane with that magic 


LIFE AT TILESTON STREET. 


123 


title, — Miss Surriage. Meantime, whatever profit or 
advantage Agnes may have derived from the disci¬ 
pline of the Ruck household, she herself was in turn 
an object of the profoundest interest to one of its 
members. Mercy Ruck was never tired of admiring 
the beauty of the new lodger, — wondering at her rich 
clothes, her blunt manners, her broad speech, and, in 
fine, at the mystery of incongruity which surrounded 
her. The spinster’s big, eager eyes would furtively 
follow the unconscious Agnes as she went hither and 
thither about the house, or rest upon her in absorbed 
fascination as she sat conning her tasks. On better 
acquaintance she ventured to steal up into her young 
guest’s room on some professed errand, and there, 
unawed by the widow’s presence, linger for a little 
chat. 

On her first visit she stared in amazement to 
see the shutters thrown back, and from her look of 
interest, as she placed herself at the window, it was 
evident that the view was a revelation. 

“ If’t was n’t for the ‘ Revenge ’ meeting-house,” she 
said, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of something 
beyond, “ you might see, might n’t you — ” 

“ Eh?” 

“ The place where he stays ? ” 

Agnes looked curious. 

“ Likely he’s a relation of yours ? ” continued the 
hrisitor, with a furtive glance at the puzzled lodger. 

“ Who’s thet?” 

“Mr. — what-d’ye-call-him — the fine young gen¬ 
tleman who brought you here.” 

“ Mister-r Fr-ronklond kin o’ moine ? ” cried Agnes, 


124 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


with a burst of laughter. “ Bless the her-rt ’n’ soul c 1 
ye, not he ! ” 

“ Oh! ” was the not very discomfited comment. 

“ He’s a gret lor-rd, or somethin’ hoigh ’n’ moighty, 
is he.” 

“ P’raps I can see it better from here,” muttered 
the visitor, crossing to the other window as if still 
busied with the view. “ A great lord is he, and an 
old friend of yours ? ” she concluded, with the air of 
repeating something that had just been said. 

“ 4 Friend ’! ” echoed Agnes, pausing over the word 
as if it suggested some new thought to her mind. 
“ Ay, oi hope he is thet — but not so ver-ry old, 
nuther-r.” 

“ Oh ! I only thought—but’t is no concern of mine. 
What a beautiful tucker you have on, Miss Agnes! ” 

“Ay, the Governor’s leddy bought it,” returned 
Agnes, with a careless glance downward; “ but at 
Mister-r Fr-ronklond’s chor-rge.” 

“ ’T is wonderfully wrought,” said Mercy, drawing 
near and examining the needlework with experienced 
eyes. “ Does he give you many such rare gifts ? ” 

“ This — ’t is nothin’ to others oi ha’ got; look ye 
here ! ” cried Agnes enthusiastically, catching up her 
silken gown *, “ he ha’ gev me this! ” 

“ And he pays your charges here ? ” 

“ Ay, an’ at school; ’t was thet oi ha’ come for, — 
to be a scholard.” 

“ To be sure I ” cried Mercy, with a sudden and 
peculiar change of tone. “ He thinks of you as a child, 
then ; and you are not very old yet ? ” she concluded, 
with a searching glance at Agnes’s face. 


LIFE AT TILESTON STREET. 125 

“ Fifteen V past.” 

“ I see.” 

The visitor looked out of the window and mused 
several moments in silence before she broke out 
with: — 

“ He has a dainty way of talking ; I like to hear, 
him. Does he talk much to you ? ” 

“ No—yes — not a gret deal,” answered Agnes, con¬ 
scientiously ; “yet he speaks when ther’s occasion.” 

“ It’s no concern of mine, only I was wonderin’,” 
continued the visitor, still busily looking out of the 
window. 

“ Eh — ye say ? ” 

“ Nothin’; I was only wonderin’ what he would 
be likely to talk about — you bein’ so young, an’ he, 
as you say, a great lord so.” 

“ Oh, onythin’ at all, loike onybody,” answered 
Agnes, not unwilling to continue the talk; “but’tis 
much o’ my singin’ he talks o’ late.” 

“ You — sing ? ” 

“ Ay, ’t is thet mainly oi’m bein’ lor-rned, — to ha’ 
my voice tr-rained.” 

“ Oh ! Would you mind singing to me ? ” 

“ No, oi’d not,” returned Agnes, striking up with¬ 
out more ado a well-known ballad. 

“ I’m obliged to you,” said Mercy, studying the 
young singer’s face attentively. “ I know that tune 
myself,” she continued, humming the air with catar¬ 
rhal effects. “And so he likes that tune, does he?” 

“ Oi know not ’f he loike’t or no.” 

“ But you said — ” 

“ No, ’t is my voice he’s ever-r pr-raisin’.” 


126 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ What do they do to your voice at school ? ” 

“ Jus’ nothin’ but forever-r sol-fa-in’ ’n’ mi-do-in’. n 

“ Oh! ” was the visitor’s only comment, as she 
still continued gazing from the window and softly 
humming the same air. 

Presently there was heard the loud slamming of a 
door below, when she started hurriedly to her feet, 
exclaiming: — 

“ There ! he’s gone ; I must go down.” 

“ ‘ He ’ ? ” repeated Agnes. 

“ The Elder, — you seen him yet ? ” 

“ No, oi did n’t.” 

“ You will, then,” pursued Mercy, turning at the 
door, “ for ” — she came across the room on tiptoe 
and concluded in a whisper — “ he comes a-courtin’.” 

“ You ? ” asked Agnes, with irrepressible interest. 

“ No,” returned Mercy, suppressing a sigh, — 
“ her.” 

“ Mrs. Ruck ? ” 

With a cautioning finger on her lips the spinster 
nodded assent and slipped silently from the room. 


CHAPTER XII. 


THE HARPSICHORD, 


GNES’S progress in music was marked and rapid. 



It gladdened the soul of worthy master Pel¬ 
ham to find one among his pupils who was gifted, 
not only with a voice passing sweet and rich, but 
with that far rarer endowment, musical intuition. 
Little indeed did the complacent tutor suspect that 
his pupil owed her extraordinary advance to an or¬ 
ganization rich in imagination, ardor, susceptibility, 
and the nameless subtler qualities that go to the 
make-up of an artist, rather than to his dry and con¬ 
ventional teachings. 

In her other studies, with a like unwearied dili¬ 
gence, Agnes showed differing aptitudes. She had 
no genius for spelling, and still less for accounts ; 
but she took kindly to writing, showed touches of 
spirit in her drawings, and danced with marvellous 
elegance. But the hardest task Master Pelham set 
to himself was untwisting the br-r-r from her tongue. 
Long and patiently did he labor; long and patiently 
did Agnes herself strive to shake off that vocal wild 
bramble of Marblehead. 

Daily she went home repeating all along the way 
some obstinate word or phrase. Daily from her high 
window-seat, looking forth over the little town, did 


128 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Bhe say over and over certain words and syllables the 
teacher had given her as models. 

Mrs. Shirley, too, kindly lent a hand in correcting 
divers inelegancies of pronunciation and phrasing; 
but Frankland made a sad blunder when one day he 
incidentally ventured to play the pedagogue. 

44 And how does my fair maid of the Fountain this 
morning ? ” he asked on one of his early visits to the 
Widow Ruck’s. 

44 Oi hed a hor-rd toime waitin’ so long to see ye,” 
answered Agnes, ingenuously. 

“ 4 A hor-rd toime,’ did you ? ” he returned, playfully 
mimicking her; “ and we shall have 4 a hor-rd toime,’ 
I fear, in getting the King’s English to run smoothly 
from your tongue. Come, now, let’s have a les¬ 
son,” he continued, seating himself by her side. 
44 Say hard, my dear ! ” 

44 No; ’f ye mock me oi ’ll say nothin’,” she cried, 
suddenly flashing up. 

44 Tut, tut! I was but trying to help you.” 

44 ’F ye cannot under-rston’ me, sen’ me bock agin 
to them that can ! ” 

44 Why, how now, little one ? You go off like gun¬ 
powder ! ” cried Frankland, laughing outright at this 
sudden explosion. 

44 Oi ’ll not stay her’ to be made a butt o’,” cried 
Agnes, starting to her feet, with tears of wounded 
pride and anger in her eyes. 

44 There, there ; I most humbly beg pardon ! 
I ’ll grovel at your feet; I ’ll cover my head with 
sackcloth and ashes. You shall be made a butt of 
no more; and if Master Pelham or Mrs. Shirley dare 


THE HARPSICHORD. 


129 


correct your speech again they shall hear from me, I 
promise you. Sit you down now, and I will dry up 
those salty damp drops upon your cheek,” cried 
Frankland, approaching with his lace handkerchief 
and an air of mock contrition to wipe the eyes of the 
indignant girl, while unrestrained merriment still 
gleamed in his own. 

“ Oi 'll woipe my own eyes V mend my own 
speech! ” she cried, starting away from him and 
flouncing angrily from the room. 

With a look of real concern Frankland called after 
her, striving to make his peace. But it was too late. 
Paying no heed to his protestations, she fled upstairs 
and took refuge in her own room. 

Equally interested and amused by this unexpected 
touch of character, Frankland carefully adjusted his 
cocked hat over a new peruke and laughed softly 
to himself as he walked away. The impression the 
incident made upon him may be gathered from the fact 
that on his way home he bought and sent to Agnes a 
box of imported comfits as a peace-offering. 

Next day, coming forth from the great meeting in 
Faneuil Hall, where Master John Lovell had been 
pronouncing a funeral oration upon the late Peter 
Faneuil, the Collector was joined by Master Pelham. 

“ And what did you think of the oration ? ” 

“ Why, sir, I would not be quoted in the matter,” 
answered the cautious schoolmaster, looking around 
to see that nobody was in ear-shot; “ but to my mind 
it was hardly equal to so great an occasion.” 

“ In what was it lacking ? ” asked the Collector, 
amused at this touch of professional jealousy. 

9 


130 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ In everything, sir, that goes to a great per* 
formance.” 

“ But to come down to particulars ? ” 

“ In form and substance alike it was wofully at 
fault.” 

“ In form, indeed, it may have come short of the 
highest Attic elegance ; but in substance —” 

“ Substance, sir ! There was no substance. He had 
hardly begun and folks settled themselves to listen, 
expecting every instant to hear something, when he 
made an end of it.” 

“Yes, it was perhaps somewhat brief, but delivered 
with much force and dignity.” 

“ Like an owl, — like a very owl, to my mind. 
Why, in France, sir, I give you my word, they 
would have laughed him off the rostrum for such an 
attempt.” 

“ Hm-m-m, perhaps ; the French are different; 
but,” continued Frankland, demurely, “ ’t is, at any 
rate, a great honor to be chosen out of the whole 
town to perform such an office, and without honora¬ 
rium, too.” 

“ ‘Without honorarium’! Poh, poh! sir, the town 
will pay dearly for it in the end, mark my words! ” 

“ How will that come about ? ” 

“ Why, sir,” answered the jealous pedagogue, quite 
unconscious that he was being baited, — “this be¬ 
tween ourselves, mind you, — Lovell has been these 
years past grumbling about his poor pay.” 

“ And what then ? ” 

“ Now he will do what he has long been threaten¬ 
ing,— come boldly forward with a claim for more 



FANEUIL HALL 




















« 





























































































































































































































THE HARPSICHORD. 


131 


salary, which the town cannot with good grace re¬ 
fuse. Mark my words, I say, and watch proceedings 
at the next town-meeting ! ” 

Arrived at the door of the Custom House, the Col¬ 
lector suddenly changed the subject by asking how 
the new pupil was getting on. 

Master Pelham took a pinch of snuff and sum¬ 
moned his professional reserve. He began guardedly, 
but, being pushed with questions, grew more em¬ 
phatic as he went on with the account of Agnes’s 
progress, and seemed, indeed, fast winding himself 
up to a pitch of positive enthusiasm, when the Col¬ 
lector was called away by a business summons. 

Later in the day, as Frankland sat writing in his 
private office, he was interrupted by a sudden alter¬ 
cation at the door. 

“ You cannot see him, ma’am,” said the voice of 
his confidential clerk. 

“ Ther’s somebody insoide wi’ him, ye say ? ” 

“ He is engaged.” 

“ Wor-rkin’ ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Oi ha’ but a wor-rd to say.” 

“ You cannot go in, I tell you ; I will deliver any 
message you may leave, but — ” 

“ Oi ’ll deliver my own message,” cried Agnes, 
swinging the astonished clerk from her path like a 
feather and boldly entering the room. 

There, walking straight up to Frankland’s desk, she 
said with flushed cheeks and downcast eyes : — 

“ Oi ha’ come to ask yer por-rdon ; oi wor-r a fool 
yester-rdoy thet oi could not better-r take a bit o’ 


132 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


funnin’. Oi ha’ more sense now; oi’m sorry fur-T 
what oi said to ye, ’n’ shamed oi am, too, after a’ ye 
ha’ done fur me, ’n’ oi hope ye ’ll forgi’ me, ’n’ never-r 
be thinkin’ oi’m such an wofu’ fool to get moddened 
for nothin’.” 

Surprised at this sudden entrance and long, breath¬ 
less apology, Frankland could not for a moment 
speak. Taking advantage of his silence, Agnes drew 
from her pocket the box of comfits, and laying it on 
the table, said, with an air of dignity: — 

“ Oi ha’ brought back yer gift; oi could not take it; 
oi wor-r in the wr-rong, ’n’ ye hed good worrnt fur 
choidin’ me. ’F oi’d just cause to be moddened wi’ 
ye, ’t is not fur th’ loike o’ these oi’d for-rget it; oi’m 
not a choild to be coaxed wi’ plums.” 

Whirling about with these words she hurried to 
the door regardless of a chair which Frankland had 
silently placed for her. 

“ Stay! ” he cried peremptorily. 

She turned on the threshold and hesitated : — 

“ They told me ye wor-r busy.” 

“Sit you down here! I would talk with you,” 
said the Collector, calmly authoritative. 

She came back with a shamefaced air; the impulse 
which had carried her thus far all spent, she knew 
not how to behave. 

“I have been hearing good reports of you,” said 
the Collector, gravely. “ Master Pelham has just been 
talking with me, and says you are making marvellous 
advance in your music.” 

“ He told ye thet ? ” she cried, with a burst of de¬ 
light at this unsolicited praise. 


THE HARPSICHORD . 


133 


“Yes, and much besides; he has great hopes of 
you ; he thinks you will do very much better yet. He 
says you not only have a fine voice and a correct ear, 
but that you study hard and faithfully at the tasks he 
sets you.” 

“ Oh, ef mother could but hear-r thet, she’d be the 
pr-roud woman I ” cried the delighted girl, not yet far 
enough advanced in her breeding to know the vulgar¬ 
ity of such a display of feeling. 

“ She shall hear it! ” said Frankland. “ I will 
write her a letter myself, and she can get her wise¬ 
acre of a parson to read it.” 

“ Ay, ay, the minister-r too; what ’ll he say to 
thet?” 

“ But,” continued Frankland, quietly, “ Master Pel¬ 
ham says that in order to keep on as you have begun, 
there is need you should have a harpsichord of your 
own, that you may practise at home.” 

“ A ha-arpsichor-rd o’ my own! ” ejaculated 
Agnes; “ the mon’s r-ravin’; his wits is gone.” 

A furtive gleam in his eyes and a suppressed twitch¬ 
ing about the lips showed with what effort Frankland 
maintained gravity to reply: — 

“ On the contrary, the good man seemed to me quite 
rational, and talked with rare good sense. Moreover, 
his commands must be presently obeyed ; and noth¬ 
ing remains but to consult Mrs. Ruck to see in 
what part of the house she will have the new instru¬ 
ment disposed.” 

“ A ha-arpsichor-rd o’ my own! ” repeated Agnes 
to herself, quite deaf to everything but that astound¬ 
ing and inconceivable fact. 


134 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ So pray tell the good woman from me,” continued 
Frankland, watching the absorbed face before him 
with covert delight, “ that I will wait upon her to¬ 
morrow afternoon on a matter of business. Mean¬ 
time,” he continued, taking up the box of comfits, 
‘ since you scorn my poor gift yourself, please bestow 
it with my compliments upon Miss — Miss — What’s- 
her-name ? — the elderly virgin that haunts the parlor 
yonder.” 

“Miss Mer-rcy? Ay, she will set gret store by 
’em, too, fur she’s deep in love wi’ yer honor-r ! ” 

“ The deuce she is! ” cried the astonished Collector, 
as Agnes, without further explanation, courtesied and 
withdrew, murmuring to herself all the way home, 
over and over again: — 

<l A ha-arpsichor-rd o’ my own ! ” 

Next day, directly after dinner, Mercy began to 
show signs of agitation. She came to her mother 
breathlessly, asking if a fire was to be laid in the 
best room. 

“ Certainly not,” answered the widow, composedly. 
Mercy looked shocked and puzzled ; what could 
her mother mean by such indifference. Not daring to 
expostulate, however, she glanced critically around 
the keeping-room, as if to realize its effect upon a 
stranger. As time wore on, she grew more disturbed, 
wandered aimlessly about the room, and went repeat¬ 
edly to the window, glancing now and then ner¬ 
vously at her mother. When the clock struck three, 
unable longer to control herself, she said, almost 
sharply, “ If you think of changin’ your cap — ” 

“ I do not.” 


THE HARPSICHORD. 


185 


“ Why, Mother Ruck — have you — don’t you 
remember ? ” 

“ Eh?” 

“ He — that Mr. Frankland’s cornin’ to-day ? ” 

“ What if he be ? I am decent.” 

Glancing over her mother’s neat but well-worn 
gown with a look of profound mortification, and 
feebly stammering an inarticulate protest, Mercy 
straightway withdrew, as if to wash her hands of all 
responsibility in maintaining the family credit. 

Frankland soon arrived, and, to the chagrin of 
Mercy, who was hovering about the hall and stair¬ 
case in a tense state of curiosity, he shut the door 
behind him as he entered the room. 

“My business with you, madam,” he began at 
once, after the exchange of greetings, “ concerns 
Miss Surriage.” 

The widow bowed, and produced some knitting 
from a bag on her arm. 

“ I am happy to say,” continued the Collector, by 
way of a diplomatic preface, “ that she finds herself 
content with you here, and reports the fairest treat¬ 
ment at your hands.” 

“ I am well pleased to hear she is satisfied,” 
returned the widow, without elation. 

“ My purpose this afternoon is to ask of you a 
further favor in her behalf.” 

The widow looked expectant, but did not com¬ 
mit herself to concessions by the softening of a 
line. 

“ Her teacher, Master Pelham, has advised me,” 
continued Frankland, “in view of her notable prog 


136 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ress in the study of music, that she should have a 
harpsichord at home.” 

“ And do you come hither, sir, to propose,” began 
the widow, with an ominous inflection, “ that I should 
take the fiddling, jig-playing thing into my house ? ” 

“ Why, not quite that,” answered Frankland, diplo¬ 
matically. “ I came hither to confer with you upon 
the matter.” 

The widow shifted her needles with an air not very 
promising to the success of the petition. 

“ I need not remind you, madam,” continued the 
Collector, feeling his way, “ that a thing is good or 
bad according to the way it is used. Even the Holy 
Scriptures, as you know, have been perverted by evil 
men to— ” 

The widow made an impatient move, as if to in¬ 
terrupt, when her visitor adroitly went about upon 
another tack. 

“ Now, as you seem unacquainted with the instru¬ 
ment in question, let me assure you that’t is not at 
all like a fiddle, and - that it is very rarely used for 
playing jigs.” 

“ ’T is nevertheless a begetter of lewd and sinful 
thoughts, and a device of the Evil One to lead men 
astray,” interposed the widow, strongly. 

“On the contrary, madam, I am persuaded ’tis 
more often used to awaken the finer emotions.” 

“My sober and respectable roof has never been 
profaned by any such invention of Beelzebub.” 

“ It would, of course,” continued Frankland, calmly 
persistent, “ be a just ground for some further rate 
of compensation.” 


THE HARPSICHORD . 


137 


At these words, whether mechanically or by design, 
the Collector drew from his pocket a well-filled purse 
and passed it softly from hand to hand as he talked. 

“ ’T is not a question of compensation ; ’t is a ques¬ 
tion of resisting temptation and avoiding evil,” an¬ 
swered the widow, looking resolutely away. 

“ But I assure you, madam, this instrument is now 
a common piece of furniture in the best families all 
over England. Nay, his Excellency the Governor 
has one yonder at his home in Roxbury.” 

By an opportune mischance the purse slipped 
through Frankland’s fingers and fell with a clang of 
golden guineas to the floor. 

“ I have a daughter to be considered,” objected the 
widow with subdued emphasis. 

“ The young — hem — the lady I have occasionally 
seen here ? ” 

“ The same, sir, — my only child.” 

“ I would not for the world, madam, be the means 
of putting temptation in the way of any one,” went 
on the Collector, idly banging the chair-leg in a 
carefully regulated crescendo with the swaying purse. 
“ I would therefore propose that Miss Agnes should 
have the instrument set up in her own room.” 

There was a long pause. Frankland prudently 
held his peace. The widow knitted an entire round 
before saying, reflectively, “ If that could be done — ” 

“ Nothing easier, I assure you.” 

“ It would of course make a difference — ” 

Frankland rose, as if the matter was concluded. 

“ But by no means reconcile me to the measure,” 
concluded the widow with a saving clause. 


138 


AGNES SURRIAGE, 


“ I shall not consider an extra guinea on the quar¬ 
ter’s account an unreasonable charge for the ac¬ 
commodation,” continued the Collector, affecting to 
disregard the foregoing. 

“ I will consider of the matter,” said the widow, 
rubbing her nose with an uncertain air, as if not quite! 
content with the result of the conference. 

“ Do so; and if I do not hear from you at the end 
of a week, I shall take the liberty of assuming that 
your decision is in my favor.” 

The retiring Collector was so busied in dissembling 
his satisfaction at having carried the point, that he 
failed to note a gaunt figure flitting up the staircase 
as he opened the door. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A LESSON IN READING. 


LTHOUGH, as has been seen, Agnes promptly 



forgave Frankland for his thoughtless mimicry, 
she did not forget it. Wounded to the quick by the 
thought that she could be in any wise an object of 
ridicule to him, she henceforth bent all her energies 
to correct the uncouth tricks of her mother tongue. 

With tenfold anxiety she now followed Master 
Pelham’s instructions, noted more carefully Mrs. 
Shirley’s little hints, watched and imitated the young 
ladies of fashion she met at dancing-school, until in 
the course of time and by dint of great effort she had 
so far overcome her chief and most flagrant faults 
that strangers no longer stared at her when she 
spoke. 

She remarked this herself, and confided it to Mercy 
at one of their sittings, which had now become 
periodic. These were usually in the early morning, 
when the widow was busied following up her maids, 
and the lodger twisting up her abundant hair in the 
elaborate mode of the day; when, in fine, the con¬ 
ditions for comfortable gossip were at their best. 

“ They seemed not to note that I spoke different 
from the others,” said Agnes, describing the behavior 
of some new acquaintances as she combed out a 
snarl 


140 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ They must have been wanting in good manners 
had they seemed to note it,” answered the ingenuous 
but maladroit Mercy. 

‘“Seemed to note it’?” repeated Agnes, suspi¬ 
ciously. “ Would you then make me believe there is 
still cause for staring in my manner of speech? ” 

“ Why, for the matter of starin’, I cannot say; 
but it seems not altogether like other folks’.” 

“Such as it is, ’t ’ll have to serve my turn,” re¬ 
plied Agnes, shortly. 

Seeing that she had given offence, Mercy hastened 
to change the subject. 

“ Oh, but what think you, Miss Agnes ? That ill- 
lookin’ fellow I told you of last week — you laughed 
at me, remember — has been hanging about the 
street again, an’ ’tis surely this house he has his eye 
on ; for mother found him leanin’ over the fence last 
night as she came home from prayer-meetin’. She 
would have demanded his business, too, but that the 
Elder is a timorous man and hurried her on.” 

Agnes, perplexed with the adjustment of a braid, 
made no remark. 

“He has some evil purpose, you may be sure,” 
continued Mercy, propitiatingly handing a hairpin ; 
“ and if he be seen again, mother will give warnin’ 
to the selectmen to send a constable after him.” 

“What should he want?” asked Agnes in an 
absent tone as she studied an effect in the mirror. 

“ Who knows ? He has found out that — stay! 
there’s a loose lock hanging — that we are three lone 
women, and would rob us, no doubt.” 

“ ’T is more like he is some innocent stranger who 


A LESSON IN READING. 141 

is wand’ring about to see the town. How does he 
look?” 

“ He has a villanous air,” continued Mercy, going 
mechanically to the window as she spoke. “ I tremble 
at sight of him; I would not set foot outside the door 
for worlds.” 

Agnes laughed aloud at so absurd a notion. 

“ It must be a terrible man would frighten me 
from going in and out my own door. As for this one, 
I have not yet set eyes on him, but — ” 

“ Here he is now, then! ” cried Mercy with a little 
shriek. “ See the wretch, yonder! ” she continued, 
pointing through the window. “ See him peering over 
the garden fence and looking boldly up in my very 
face! ” 

Agnes jumped up and ran eagerly to look ; but no 
sooner did she behold the man, than, uttering a loud 
cry, she rushed from the room. 

Calling after her in vain, the astonished Mercy 
turned back to the window and presently beheld the 
excited lodger rush out of the house, up the garden 
path, and out upon the street with her half-dressed 
hair floating behind her in the breeze. 

Meantime the strange man had disappeared, and 
Agnes presently came back with a baffled and dis¬ 
appointed air, but offered no explanation of her 
conduct. 

For days afterwards, moreover, it was noted she 
kept an outlook from the window, haunted the garden, 
and lingered about the gate looking wistfully up and 
down the street in a way that excited Mercy’s curios¬ 
ity to a painful pitch. Attempts to sound her upon 


142 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the subject, however, proved fruitless, for she promptly 
and bluntly checked the first insinuating approach 
to it. 

Meantime the watchful Mercy noted that the 
lodger’s demeanor had changed ; that she ate her 
meals in silence; that her eyes often wandered from 
her books and remained fixed in an abstracted stare 
on nothingness; that she no longer laughed and sang 
about the house as had been her wont. 

“ She’s got somethin’ on her mind,” said Mercy, 
driven to the extreme resource of confiding in her 
mother. 

The widow was narrowing a heel, and went on 
with concentration counting her stitches. Having 
finished her round, she shifted her needles, ad¬ 
justed the stationary one in a cob at her belt, and 
looked up with a blank expression at her expec¬ 
tant daughter. 

“ She’d seen that loaferish man before, I tell you; 
she knew him, as sure as you ’re sittin’ there. And, 
mother,” continued the excited spinster, looking 
about to see that the doors were shut, “ do you know 
what I think ? ” 

Not even a passing movement of curiosity disturbed 
the repose of the widow’s face as she seamed and 
narrowed another entire round. 

“/think he was lookin’ for her.” 

“ Fudge! ” 

Naturally discouraged by such a reception of her 
surmises, Mercy sought no longer the maternal con¬ 
fidence, but returned to a solitary study of the 
situation. 


A LESSON IN READING. 


143 


Meantime the situation speedily became complicated. 
One bright morning shortly after the disappearance 
of the mysterious loafer, Agnes was summoned to the 
door to see a visitor. Her surmise as to who it might 
be was confirmed on the way down by finding Mercy 
hovering about the upper landing, craning her neck 
over the balusters. 

“ Oh! ” she exclaimed with a little start as the lodger 
came upon her. “ Is it you ? I happened to be cornin’ 
up an’ — I wonder why he don’t come in?” 

The Collector noted Agnes’s sober visage directly. 
“Why, how now?” he cried; “whence got you that 
dumpish look ? Fie, fie! a young chick like you with 
the vapors! Cheer up! cheer up! and come to the 
door. Here is something to gladden your eyes!” 

In obedience to this invitation Agnes stepped out 
just in time to see two stout serving-men deposit be¬ 
fore the door what appeared to be a large box covered 
with a coarse blanket. She turned with an inquiring 
look to Frankland, who reached forward and pulled 
off the blanket, disclosing a fine new harpsichord. 

There was a long minute of silence. The Col¬ 
lector’s face was beaming. The two serving-men 
wore a broad grin of expectation ; the eyes of all three 
were fixed upon the recipient, who showed herself, 
however, utterly wanting to the occasion. She sto<&d 
dumb before the beautiful instrument; not a smile, 
not an exclamation, not a word of thanks escaped her 
The disappointed Collector was about to rally her, 
when he discovered that her eyes were swimming in 
tears. Motioning the men to carry the instrument 
into the house, he put forth his hand with a comforting 


144 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


word and gently stroked Agnes’s head, when instantly 
she burst into a passionate fit of weeping. 

“Heyday! what’s the matter now?” he cried, tak¬ 
ing her impulsively in his arms. “ Is there anything 
to grieve you in what I have done ? ” 

“No, no, no!” she sobbed convulsively. 

“What afflicts you, then ? Tell me.” 

Bending over the weeping girl to catch her answer, 
Frankland was startled by a dry cough overhead, and 
looking up beheld Mrs. Ruck gazing at them from her 
window, with Mercy in the background peering over 
her shoulder. 

Paying no heed to their presence save by a cool 
stare, Frankland turned once more to Agnes ; but the 
latter, startled by the ominous cough, flew from his 
embrace and up the steps, crying in a stifled voice,— 

“ I cannot thank ye ; ye ’re too good to me ; ye ’re 
a’ the friend I have left in the world.” 

Puzzled at this outbreak, Frankland hesitated a mo¬ 
ment as if about to follow her, but directly changing 
his purpose turned and walked thoughtfully away. 

The incident was not without its effect. To the 
astonishment and bewilderment of Mercy, the lodger 
lapsed presently from her mood of dumps into one of 
unnatural gayety. She tripped up and down stairs 
on winged feet; she filled the house with song; she 
was garrulous and hilarious; she recklessly left open 
the doors, riotously tracked in mud upon the immacu¬ 
late floors, and all the time went about blind as a bat 
to the widow’s black looks, and deaf as a post to the 
severe upbraidings inflicted upon Mercy. 

The widow’s worst fears and misgivings were 


A LESSON IN READING. 


145 


realized. She consistently attributed all this undisci¬ 
plined behavior on the part of the lodger to the 
malign influence of the harpsichord, which formida¬ 
ble instrument of evil had been straightway sent up¬ 
stairs and bestowed in the lodger’s own room. Mercy, 
although in a measure sharing her mother’s preju¬ 
dices, had other theories in the establishment of which 
she found herself helplessly adrift on a wide ocean of 
conjecture. 

Frankland, meanwhile, concluding very naturally 
that the influences of the Ruck household were be¬ 
ginning to weigh too heavily on Agnes’s spirits, came 
around the next day to take her off on a tramp to 
Cambridge, whither he was going on business. With 
an Englishman’s love for exercise, he chose to walk, 
and Agnes, as he well knew, could hold her own 
upon the march. 

Delighted with the invitation, she ran singing up¬ 
stairs to kick off her high heels and slip into her 
walking-shoes, and presently they set forth. 

What with singing duets, running races, and wan¬ 
dering for flowers, they found themselves so heated 
and out of breath before half the way was done 
that they gladly took advantage of a shady seat by 
the roadside to rest. 

It chanced to be a spot where the road ran close 
to the river, which, bordered with green banks and 
hazel copses, crept away in sinuous course across the 
marshes to the sea. 

Drawing a long breath of relief, Frankland threw 
himself down upon the grass, and presently, with a 
laughing apology, pulled off his wig. 

10 


146 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Agnes uttered an exclamation at the change it 
made in his appearance. 

“See what a fright I am!” he cried, loosening 
with his fingers his matted light-brown hair, which, 
thus tossed about, showed glints of color as if sanded 
with gold-dust. 

“ That ye ’re not; ye ’re far finer so,” exclaimed 
Agnes, gazing with admiration at the comely head 
for the first time disclosed to her view. “ I thought 
not ye wor so young.” 

“Yes, these topknots make us all one age, and 
they ’re abominably hot, too ; but we should be hope¬ 
less guys without ’em,” said the Collector, catching 
up the discarded wig upon the end of his sword and 
hanging it on a neighboring branch. 

Hardly were they seated and at ease, when a dis¬ 
tant cloud of dust upon the highway betokened the 
approach of a vehicle. In a minute more they made 
out a chariot drawn by four horses and attended by 
mounted servants in livery. 

“ Who comes here ? ” said Frankland in a tone of 
annoyance. “ A plague on them, whoever they be ! 
for now I must needs don my wig; it shall never be 
said his Majesty’s Collector of the Customs was seen 
by the roadside with a bare poll.” 

Rising as he spoke, he carelessly reached for his 
wig bobbing before him on the branch. Unhappily, 
a chance puff of wind, contesting the prize, swept 
it from the tree and carried it rolling down the slope 
to the river’s brink. 

With a cry of dismay the owner sprang after it; but 
before he had traversed half the distance an impish 


A LESSON IN READING. 


147 


zephyr caught up the big bunch of snow-white hair 
and tossed it like a fleck of foam upon the swiftly 
gliding current. 

“ Agnes, quick! quick! — come here, girl! — catch 
it! ” cried the agitated Collector. 

The situation, however, proved to be one which 
appealed more strongly to Agnes’s sense of humor 
than her sympathy. Forgetful of her habitual re¬ 
spect, forgetful of her great obligation to her com¬ 
panion, she stood rooted to the bank, and with peals 
of irrepressible laughter watched the anxious Col¬ 
lector fishing for his precious wig. 

“ Eh, sir, — dear, dear, — make haste an’ get it f 
The coach is upon us ! ” 

“ Get a branch I Come and help! quick ! ’t is 
escaping me ! ” 

“ An — an ye killed me,” cried Agnes, hysterically, 
“I — I could not budge.” 

“ Have done with your folly,” called the Collector, 
out of all patience. “ ’T is no funning matter, I tell 
you.” 

“ Here — here they come! ” cried Agnes, with a 
glance at the approaching carriage. “ ’T is his Ex¬ 
cellency himself, wi’ some other grandees.” 

“ D-n his Excellency! ’T is my best London 

Ramillies, and not to be matched in the province.” 

Stirred to action by Frankland’s vexation, Agnes 
at last came staggering down the slope, almost sob* 
bing with laughter, and joined in the pursuit. 

Stayed at last in its course by a projecting snag, 
the wig was caught and drawn safely to shore. 
Meantime his Excellency had gone thundering past, 


148 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


too much engrossed with his guests to notice the 
wayfarers. 

“ Egad! we may as well sit down again while it 
dries,” said Frankland, shaking the water from the 
dripping wig. “ I am worse winded than before.” 

“ I have to— to ask yer por-rdon ; but — ugh ! —/ 
ugh!—but I could n’t help it, — I — I could n’t, truly,” 
gasped Agnes. “ ’T would ’a’ made a saint above 
laugh to see ye wi’ — wi’ the bare poll an’ the scared 
face, run—runnin’ after it an’ splashin’ wi’ the stick! ” 
“ Oh, laugh away,” answered Frankland, good- 
naturedly, as he threw himself upon the grass and 
disposed his head upon a fallen trunk. “ Laugh as 
much as you like, now I have back my wig! ” 

“ No, I ha’ laughed enough,” said Agnes, drawing 
out her handkerchief to wipe her eyes; “ but ye may 
show ye forgive me now, an’ render good for ill by 
readin’ this for me,” she concluded, picking up a letter 
she had drawn from her pocket with her handker¬ 
chief. 

“ Fie ! cannot you read your own letters yet ? ” 

“ Ay, when they be fairly writ; but this is past 
makin’ out. I know not who mother could ha’ got 
for her dark.” 

Frankland with practised eye glibly enough read off 
Goody Surriage’s humdrum account of domestic af¬ 
fairs and village gossip in Marblehead, and tossed it 
back to Agnes, saying : — 

“ Poh! that’s not hard; you need practice. Here,” 
he continued, drawing several letters from his pocket 
and carelessly handing them over to her, “ try your 
skill on these.” 


A LESSON IN READING. 


149 


Agnes picked up the fluttering sheets, and opening 
She first which came to hand, read without much 
difficulty the following note : — 

“ ‘ Mr. Thos. Hancock presents his compliments to Mr. 
Frankland, and requests the honor of his company at supper 
on Friday at six o’clock, post meridian.’ ” 

“ Very fairly done! ” cried the teacher, approvingly. 
“ Go on now with another.” 

Agnes, with a gratified smile at the commendation, 
next unfolded a thick and curiously folded sheet and 
began:— 

“ ‘ My darling boy — ’ ” 

“ Ah! ” interposed the Collector, laughing, “ my 
respected mamma; there’s good practice for you ; no 
such smooth sailing as friend Hancock’s note, I prom¬ 
ise you.” 

“ ‘ Your last welcome letter,’ ” continued Agnes, 
spelling her way along, “‘besides an assurance of your 
health and safety*,—for which God be thanked! — 
brought me also a fuller account of your manner of 
life yonder in the wilderness, for which I am truly 
grateful. Clearly enough I see’t is a barren place, 
despite your tone of content and gayety, which is 
plainly assumed. Ah! my son, you cannot deceive 
a mother’s instinct. With no Court life, no opera, 
no theatre, no books, no pictures, no society, what 
can there be to sweeten or support existence ? ’T is 
wrong in me, I know, to be thus breeding discontent 
in you with your surroundings, since for the present 
at least your exile seems enforced; but I tremble 
lest you should grow so wonted to your new life 


150 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


that you will lose all taste for civilization, and choose 
rather to settle down yonder in a semi-barbarous 
state. I am, however, somewhat comforted by your 
assurance that I need have no fear of your marrying, 
since there is nobody of sufficient rank in the prov¬ 
ince to make you a wife.’ ” 

The reader hesitated, and seemed suddenly to find 
it difficult to proceed. 

“Very good indeed!” cried the teacher, intent 
upon the lesson. “Go on !” 

“ ‘ No, my son,’ ” continued the reader with a pe¬ 
culiar change of tone, “ ‘ never make that mistake ! 
A— marriage — with—an—inferior — would—prove 
your — utter — ruin! ’ ” 

The reader’s voice faltered, and she blundered and 
stumbled surprisingly over the most simple words. 

“ Come, come ! you grow worse instead of better !” 
cried the teacher, chidingly. “ I wonder Master Pel¬ 
ham has such patience with you! At it again, now, 
and see you do better! ” 

“ ‘ It would not only put an end to your prospects 
at Court, where your preferment may depend upon a 
happy match, but— but — * ” 

“ ‘ But — but — * What’s the matter now ? Has 
the dear old lady been blotting the page ? Let me 
see! ” 

Agnes mechanically handed over the letter. 

“Not at all; ’tis in her best style, and almost as 
plain as print. Here, there’s no excuse for you; take 
it and finish! ” 

Picking up, with a passive movement of obedience, 
the sheet tossed back to her, Agnes went on: — 


A LESSON IN READING. 


lol 

“ ‘ But— cost—you — a— noble—inheritance. You 
know your uncle’s high hopes for you and his invinci¬ 
ble prejudices. Last, my dear son, by such an act 
you would break your mother’s heart! ’ ” 

Pausing here and muttering something incoherent 
by way of excuse, the reader rose, handed back the 
letter, and walked rapidly away. 

“ Eh! tired so soon! Oh, very well; this will do 
for a beginning. We ’ll try again some other day. 
All you need is practice. Ugh-h-h! ” yawning, and 
drawing out his watch. “ ’T is time we were moving 
on. Take a look at my wig, please, and see if ’tis 
dry enough yet! ” 

Receiving no answer, and suddenly recalling some¬ 
thing peculiar in his pupil’s face as she handed back 
the letter, the Collector sprang to his feet just in time 
to see her disappearing around a distant curve in the 
homeward road. 

“ Agnes! Why, Agnes I Stay ! — What’s the 
matter ? Ag-nes, I say! Stop ! stop ! ” 

Giving back neither look nor word, however, 
Agnes held her course, leaving her astonished com¬ 
panion staring blankly after her in the midst of the 
highway. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


AN OLD FRIEND AND A DISH OF FIGS. 

I N running away from Frankland and his reading-'' 
lesson Agnes had simply yielded to blind impulse, 
— a mere physical instinct to escape from pain, with¬ 
out taking thought of her motive. This obtrusive 
question came up presently when she paused to take 
breath. Dazed to find herself without an excuse 
that could be put into words, she paused, and for a 
moment made a movement to turn back ; but directly 
breaking loose from the weak hold of reason with a 
rebellious cry of impatience, she whirled about and 
sped on again at redoubled speed. 

It was just before nightfall when she entered the 
town. The streets were full of people going home 
from their work. Many a curious glance was cast at 
the agitated girl, as with burning cheeks and down¬ 
cast eyes she passed along. Arrived at last in the 
neighborhood of home, as she was threading her way 
through North Street a rough-looking man suddenly 
turned the corner of an alley from the direction of 
the Town Dock and walked on before her. There 
was nothing notable in his appearance save his un¬ 
usual size and lumbering gait. 

At first Agnes did not heed him ; but as she came 
nearer, some little characteristic trick of gait or car- 


AN OLD FRIEND AND A DISH OF FIGS. 153 


riage caught her eye, when, springing forward, she 
seized him by the arm, and cried in ringing tones: — 

“ Job — Job Redden, is it you ? ” 

He stopped and stood patiently as with eager eyes 
she scanned his face. He made no effort to avoid 
her glance, nor pretence of not knowing her; but , 1 
save for the look of recognition which was as 
nearly negative as it could be, his face was a blank. 
Neither surprise, nor joy, nor jealousy, nor anger, 
nor a gleam of any perceptible emotion lighted up 
the heavy immobility of his features. His rough hand 
lay unresponsive in her tight grasp, and he stood 
unconscious as a statue of the embrace in which she 
held him. 

“ Job, Job, I ha’ been long lookin’ for ye ! I saw 
ye t’ other day from the window, an’ well-nigh broke 
my neck runnin’ down to catch ye. What went wi* 
ye so sudden ? I — I feared ye’d maybe gone home 
wi’out seein’ me.” 

She paused for an answering look or word of 
sympathy. 

“Job,” she continued, gazing anxiously into his 
face, “ does anything ail ye, man ? ” 

He shook his head listlessly. 

“But do ye not know me? It’s Ag—little 

Ag —” 

41 Ay! ” 

“ An’ is this the way to greet old friends? Ha’ ye 
no word for me ? ” 

“ Oi wish ye well.” 

“ Wish me well! ” she repeated, starting back with 
a flash in her eye. “ Ay, I hope so; ’t is the least ye 


154 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


can do. I know not why ye should wish me any¬ 
thin’ other. Ye might a’ left that without sayin’, 
Job Redden, to one has known ye since ye wor’ a 
cut-tail.” 

But the taunt was thrown away upon the silent 
and impassive man before her. 

“ Oh, do not look that way at me ! ’T is better to 
chide ’n’ blame, as ye used, than stand ther’ like a 
dumb image. Are ye sick ? Tell me, an’ I ’ll ha’ ye 
cared for! ” 

He shook his head as before. 

“ ’N’ what then’s the matter, that the life ’n’ soul 
is gone out o’ ye, or are ye in liquor mebbe ? Job, 
ha’ ye been drinkin’ ? ” 

“ No, no; oi’m well eno’,” he said, trying to free 
himself from her grasp. “ Oi ’ll be goin’ my way ’f 
ye ha’ no errond for me.” 

“ Errond for ye!” echoed Agnes; “but I have. 
Go tell my mother ye would not come to seek 
me out, but left me to find ye by chance upon 
the highway, an’ ye well-nigh broke my heart wi’ 
yer hard looks. Go tell her that when ye get 
back.” 

“ Oi ’ll go back yonder-r no more.” 

“ ‘ No more ’ ? —’n’ where then ’ll ye go ? ” 

“ To fur-rin pa-ar-rts! ” 

“ Go for a sailor — ’n’ ye a fisherman born 1 99 

Job nodded. 

“ ’N’ wher’ about in foreign parts ’ll ye go ? 99 

“ Yonder wher’ they fetch th’ woine.” 

“ France ? ” 

“ Por -rtygal they ca' ’t.” 


AN OLD FRIEND AND A DISH OF FIGS. 155 

Agnes shook her head ; she had not reached that 
chapter in geography. 

44 An’ when ’ll ye be cornin’ back ? ” 

“Whenever-r God wills ’n’ th’ ship sails, oi’m 
thinkin’,” he answered, half closing his eyes with an 
air of indifference. 

44 Come, shipmate,” cried a gruff voice behind 
them, “ cast loose fro’ yer sweetheart! ’Tis time to 
be gettin’ aboard.” 

44 Ay, ay ; oi’m cornin’,” answered Job, disen 
gaging himself from Agnes’s hold, and turning to 
follow the speaker. 

She made a vague movement to stop him, and, 
turning pale, caught hold of a neighboring fence for 
support. There, clinging, she watched the lumbering 
figures out of sight. There, too, mayhap for hours 
she might have stood, gazing blankly down the 
vacant street, had not two of the town fence-viewers, 
worthy Messrs. Hopestill Foster and Onesiphorus 
Tileston, as their last official act for the day, come to 
inspect the very fence upon which she was leaning. 
Friends of Mistress Ruck, they recognized and ac¬ 
costed her. Annoyed by their obtrusive questions, 
she started up and hurried home. 

The sudden and mysterious change which had 
taken place in the lodger’s mood during the few 
hours of her absence was at once remarked by 
Mercy, who let her in. 

After a wakeful night passed in vain speculation 
as to the cause of it, she went up betimes next morn¬ 
ing to pay the lodger a visit. 

Agnes sat at the harpsichcrd ; it was her hour for 


156 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


practising. The spinster paused at the door and 
framed an excuse for entering, as was her custom 
when uncertain of her reception. 

“ I was wondering whether maybe you would like 
some of these,” she began, extending, as she spoke, 
a dish of figs. “ He brings ’em — always brings her 
somethin’, you know, — but pointing down¬ 

wards, “ cannot bear ’em ’count of the dirt, ’n’ I 
always eat these V the barley-candy. Help your¬ 
self ! ” 

Agnes shook her head. 

“Oh, can’t eat while you’re playin’? They’re 
considered very wholesome. Do you mind if I sit 
here where I can see your fingers?” 

Agnes silently assented, and went on with her 
music. She was too well accustomed to her visitor 
to be disturbed. 

“ What a marvellous thing it is ! ” continued the 
spinster, gently dusting the instrument with her 
handkerchief as she talked. “ It must have cost a 
great store of money. But I suppose he is so rich 
that — Did you ever go into liis house ? ” 

The musician shook her head. 

“ ’T is said to be very grand within ; all the furni¬ 
ture brought over from England, an’ such curious 
things picked up in foreign parts as were never seen 
here.” 

The player gave no sign of having heard, and yet 
went on playing over and over the same page of 
music in a way that showed her mind was not busied 
with the score. 

“ One would soon get his peck, eatin’ figs,” con* 


AN OLD FRIEND AND A DISH OF FIGS . 157 


tinued Mercy, picking over the fruit upon the dish. 
“ And the seeds are past numberin’. ’Tis a pity,— 
is it not? — a great pity he should be so wild.” 

The music lapsed from piano to pianissimo . 

“’Tis said he has parties — two or three in the 
week, sometimes — when the lights are kept flarin’ 
all night long, and there is sound of much revelry 
and riotous behavior within.” 

“ ’Tis no concern of anybody’s what /he has! ” cried 
the musician, sharply, coming to a dead stop. 

“ Of course not; so it is n’t; so I tell mother. 
He has company because he’s lonesome, as who 
would n’t be, livin’ all sole alone in that big house?” 

The music began again fortissimo. 

“ I used to wonder what he did it for,” continued 
the spinster. “ ’T is so odd a thing for a man to set 
up housekeeping alone ; but,” she concluded, with a 
masterful touch of finesse, “ when they said he was 
goin’ to be married — ” 

The musician made a frightful discord. 

“ Who told you that ? ” she asked sharply. 

“ Folks say so.” 

“’Tis a lie!” 

“ Oh! ” 

The musician rose and paced the floor for several 
minutes, and then flung herself down in a window- 
seat across the room. 

“ He will never get married in America, because,” 
she continued, with the air of one reciting a formula, 
“ there is nobody of sufficient rank in the province 
to make him a wife.” 

“ ‘ Rank ! ’” echoed Mercy, watching intently the 


158 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


lodger’s changing manner; 44 there be many here of 
high degree, and — ” 

444 And * ? ” repeated Agnes, impatiently. 

44 He may not stand upon that point himself.” 

44 Ay, but he does.” 

44 How know you that ? ” 

Agnes stared at this downright question and the 
speaker’s look of growing intensity. 

“ They are his own words,” she said, after a mo¬ 
ment’s consideration, as if having made up her mind 
for some purpose to continue the conversation. 

44 Eh! ” exclaimed the spinster almost breathlessly, 
as she moved into a nearer chair. “He told you 
that?” 

“ No.” 

“ Ah! ” 

“ But,” continued Agnes, noting anxiously the ef¬ 
fect of every word upon her companion, “ he gave it 
to me to read in his mother’s letter.” 

“ You said 4 his own words.’ ” 

“She was only repeating them.” 

44 He may have said it to please her.” 

44 You think so ? ” 

The lodger caught at the suggestion with a mo¬ 
mentary look of relief, then shaking her head doubt¬ 
fully, added, — 

“ No, — no; he spoke his mind 1 ” 

44 But,” asked Mercy, after a little pause, during 
which she nervously cracked the joints of her fingers 
as she wrestled with the problem, “what did she 
write about it for? She must have persuaded herself 
there was ground of alarm.” 


AN OLD FRIEND AND A DISH OF FIGS. 159 

Agnes turned with a blank look as if slowly recall¬ 
ing her mind from some other train of thought. 
44 Yes! ” she cried at last with suddenness. 44 I 
thought not of that — yes; for she said that to marry 
one of lower rank would ruin him.” 

44 Ruin! ” 

44 Destroy his prospects, and — ” 

44 4 And,’ ” repeated Mercy, intruding her bony fig¬ 
ure like a human interrogation-point into the window- 
seat beside Agnes. 

44 And break his mother’s heart,” concluded Agnes, 
watching closely the effect of her words. 

44 Oh! ” 

The two sat looking at each other for a whole 
minute in silence. 

44 Men mind not always their mothers’ bidding in 
such matters,” suggested Mercy at length.— 44 You’d 
better try a fig ; they come from Sum-yr-na, or some 
such outlandish place where they seem not to trouble 
themselves about dirt. — Nor do I think a young man 
ever does that he thinks he will, or knows, indeed, 
what he’s going to do till ’tis done. My experience 
has not been great,” she continued, suppressing a sigh 
and choosing another fig, 44 but I suspect ’tis a matter 
of touch and go, when all is said, and one case is 
much like another.” 

The tense lines of the lodger’s face slightly relaxed, 
and a little look of relief stole over it as she listened. 

44 Look at her ! ” continued the spinster, wiping 
her sticky fingers upon her apron and nodding down¬ 
wards. 44 She knows not at this minute what she 
will do in the end. She would never waste a look 


160 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


upon him when it began, and gave him a cold shoulder 
for a long time; but he ’s been courtin’ these two 
years now, and ’tis my opinion if he yields all points 
on the settlement ’t will be a match. You’d best 
try a fig!” 

The lodger accepted the offer, and long after the 
spinster was called away by a sharp summons from 
below, sat curled up in the sun-lighted window-seat, 
munching figs until the dish was finished. 


CHAPTER XV. 


VANITY FAIR. 

T^\IRECTLY after the walk to Cambridge, official 
business called the Collector from Boston for 
several weeks. Hard upon his return there came 
sailing into the harbor one fine morning the frigate 
44 Rose,” of the Royal Navy, in command of his own 
younger brother, Captain Thomas Frankland. 

Welcome enough was this visit to the exiled Eng¬ 
lishman, and only too gladly he undertook — what 
indeed belonged to him on the score both of office 
and kinship, — the duty of doing the honors of the 
little town to the gallant captain and his convivial 
party of young officers. 

The task of finding diversion for these merry 
gentlemen, just escaped from the confinement of the 
vessel after a long voyage, proved, however, to be no 
sinecure ; and what with these hospitable efforts and 
the discharge of his daily duties at the Custom House, 
it will readily be seen there was scant time left to 
bestow upon his ward. 

But Agnes happily knew something of the state 
of affairs and surmised much more. She had heard 
the cannon on Fort Hill thunder forth a salute to the 
stranger vessel the morning it came sailing up the 
11 


162 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


channel ; indeed, from her own chamber-window she 
could see the royal ensign floating above the frigate 
as it lay at anchor in the harbor. She had read, too, 
in the “ Evening Post ” the name of the gallant com¬ 
mander, and of his relationship with the Collector. 

As making clear the cause of Frankland’s absence 
and seeming neglect, all this was of comfort; but for 
the rest, there was something ominous to Agnes in 
this coming of the strange vessel. She was beset 
by a haunting fear — a feeling too vague to be put 
into words by one not yet skilled in resolving mental 
whys and wherefores — that it boded disaster to her 
happiness. Oddly enough, it would persistently as¬ 
sociate itself with that proud mother’s letter, the 
words of which yet rung in her ears. There needs 
must be something in the coincidence. This brother 
with his official prestige, his glittering uniform, and 
all the pomp and circumstance of authority, — why 
else had he come over the seas on the heels of that 
letter, but to bring back this wandering sheep to 
the fold, to shut him in behind the barriers of rank 
and caste, to bind him by new oaths to the career 
of ambition. 

Once admitted to parley, this fancy carried the 
mind by assault and drove reason and judgment out 
of doors. Facts were ignored, experience was set 
at nought. The work of the past — the long months 
of familiar intercourse which had reduced him from 
heroic to human proportions — was undone, and 
Frankland arose once more before her imagination as 
she had first seen him at the little inn, a being of 
another and higher order. 


VANITY FAIR . 


163 


Want of the wholesome corrective of daily com¬ 
panionship had, of course, much to do with this. 
As a vacant room is invaded by cobwebs, so Agnes’s 
mind, untenanted by work-a-day Fact, was given over 
to idle Fancy. In the absence — prolonged now to 
several weeks — of the real Frankland she had let 
in an intruding ideal. The result as shown in her 
action was curious. 

One day on the road home from school she went 
out of her way to pass his office. Instead of her 
usual course through North, she went roundabout 
through Hanover Street. Approaching the well- 
known spot, she became strangely agitated : her color 
rose, her pulse quickened, her heart beat furiously as 
with resolutely averted eyes she hurried past, only 
pausing when she reached the corner to cast a wistful 
look backward upon the building from which, at 
that moment, by the irony of chance, the unconscious 
Collector was miles distant on a pleasure excursion 
with his merry companions. 

On another occasion, which more clearly showed 
her contradictory frame of mind, noting some com¬ 
motion among the passers-by upon the street, she 
turned about and beheld the Collector quite near at 
hand, in the act of parting with some of his guests. 
Their gay uniforms attracted the attention of the 
populace, and Agnes stood staring with the rest, 
until suddenly, before she had warning of his pur¬ 
pose, Frankland whirled around and came briskly 
towards her along the street. Pausing not to note 
whether he saw her, she turned down the first alley 
and precipitately fled. 


164 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


Meantime the presence of so many distinguished 
visitors in the little town naturally caused a stir in 
society, and was made the occasion of a brilliant 
round of entertainments ; in the course of which, as 
a proof that she was not forgotten, Agnes one morn¬ 
ing received a hurried note from Frankland, enclos¬ 
ing an invitation to a party at Madame Yassall’s in 
honor of the officers of the frigate. 

As she had not the honor of Madame Vassall’s 
acquaintance, and as she had never been to a party 
in her life, she could scarcely have been more terri¬ 
fied if summoned to execution. 

Before she had time to recover from her dismay, 
moreover, Mrs. Shirley came rolling up to the door in 
her coach to say that the invitation had been sent at 
her own instance, and that she had promised Mr. 
Frankland to take charge of his ward and see that she 
was provided with a suitable toilet for the occasion. 

“Oh, but, dear madam, I — I’m right glad to see 
ye, as ye know, ’n’ most beholden I am for your kind 
offices; but—but — ” 

“ But what, my dear ? ” 

“I — I’m thinkin’ I ’ll not go to the party.” 

“ Poh, poh, poh! ‘ Go ’! — you have no choice in 

the matter.” 

“I ha’ never yet been to a thing like that, and — ” 

“ All the more need you should begin ; and you 
could not have a better opportunity.” 

“ But —but I — ” 

“ Tut, tut! Mr. Frankland desires it, and the 
thing is settled. Never fear, my dear,” continued 
the matron, repressing a smile at the consternation in 


VANITY FAIR . 


165 


Agnes’s face ; “ you shall go in under my wing, and 
I will take care of you.” 

“ But if I know nobody, they ’ll wonder to see me, 
an’ — ” 

“ There will be all your young friends of the 
dancing-school, — the Phipses, the Quincys, the Wen- 
'dells, the Cradocks, the Lydes, and the rest. You 
will get on famously; so, now, have done with 
qualms and scruples, and let us give our minds 
to your gown ! ” 

Silenced, but not reassured, Agnes sat passively 
while the experienced matron studied her points and 
planned her toilet. 

“ I think,” said the latter presently, “ it had best 
be of white satin over pink brocade, with a necklace 
of pearls — ” 

“ 4 Pearls I ’ ” echoed Agnes, aghast. 

“ Yes ; I will lend you the jewels myself, with 
pendants to match.” 

“ Oh, ’t would be far too grand for me, ma’am ! ” 

“ Not a whit; you are studying to become a lady — 
so far as you may,” concluded the matron with an 
elastic reservation. 

44 Ay,” said Agnes, dubiously. 

“Remember this, then, — nothing on earth can 
ever be too grand for a lady.” 

Agnes stood pondering this overwhelming state¬ 
ment in awe-struck silence, until her visitor exclaimed 
impatiently: — 

“ But come ! Come, my dear, I have little time to 
spare; get on your hat and go with me to the 
mantua-maker! ” 


166 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


On parting, Mrs. Shirley stipulated that as hei 
own coach was to be filled on the night of the part}' 
with some gentlemen the Governor was entertaining, 
Agnes should be escorted by one of the widow’s 
maids, drive to the Yassalls’ in the Collector’s coach, 
and await her coming in the dressing-room. 

It may fairly be doubted whether Mrs. Shirley 
would have suggested so informal an arrangement 
to a daughter of one of her own friends ; and the fact 
that she proposed it as a matter of course to Agnes 
is significant of certain distinctions she still made in 
her case. 

As for the latter, quite oblivious as yet of such 
subtle shades of courtesy, she thanked Mrs. Shirley 
cordially for her kindness, and went home with a 
heart full of gratitude for the distinguished con¬ 
sideration with which she had been treated. 

If its effect upon Mercy count for anything, Agnes’s 
gown must have been a success. Running upstairs, 
on the night of the party, to get a peep at the 
lodger, the dazzled spinster stood for a moment dum- 
founded before a vision of beauty unmatched in her 
experience. 

“Soul ’n’ body! Is’t you? I — I would never 
’a’ thought you could — Why, ’t is — ’t is as fine as 
a picture! Oh, if mother could be persuaded now 
but to take one look at you ! ” 

But the widow was quite superior to any such 
weakness; for although she heard the Collector’s 
coach presently roll up to the door with great rattle 
of harness and cracking of whip, although she heard 
the lodger trip rustling downstairs in her silken 


VANITY FAIR. 


167 


finery, — of which Mercy had already been in with 
a breathless account, — the widow, calmly knitting 
at the window, with an incredible control of every 
feminine impulse, never raised her head to look out. 

Madam Vassall lived in one of the finest houses 
in town. Standing on the spot now occupied by a 
well-known dry-goods shop on the southern side of 
Summer Street, it was of generous proportions, and 
built in the simple but stately style of architecture 
in vogue in the middle of the last century. 

As with a sinking heart Agnes approached this 
notable o/d-time mansion in the wake of a long line 
of coaches, chairs, and chaises, she had ample leisure 
to study its details, — the noble portico and balcony 
over the front door, the gambrel roof and luthern 
window, the courtyard paved in blue and white 
pebbles laid in quaint patterns, the garden fragrant 
with box and honeysuckle, the octagonal summer¬ 
house shaded by a huge English walnut-tree, and the 
long arcades adjoining the stable decorated with 
elaborate panel-work and painted in two shades of 
yellow to match the house. 

At last her carriage drew up before the entrance, 
and Agnes, folding more closely about her a mantle 
of fleecy Indian drapery, with faltering steps passed 
through the front door, flung open by an expectant 
negro slave, and up the massive staircase made of 
solid Spanish mahogany, — brought by the late Leon¬ 
ard Vassall from his estates in the West Indies, — to 
the upper hall, where an antique clock in an alcove 
near the head of the stairs struck six as she passed 
along. 


168 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


In the dressing-room she found Mrs. Shirley already 
arrived and standing before a pier-glass while a tur- 
baned mulatto maid adjusted her dress. 

Barely repressing a cry of admiration when Agnes 
entered, the matron surveyed the trembling novice 
with a critical glance, and contented herself with 
saying: — 

“ Humph! you will do very well, child; there might 
be a thought more fulness in the skirt — Go, Diana, 
and shake it out! Now, turn about, my dear ! Yes, 
yes, you will do very well indeed. Did you see his 
Excellency in the passage ? ” 

“ I noted nobody there,” faltered Agnes. 

“ He must be waiting this long time, and impatient 
enough, I dare say. Hand me my fan, Diana! Come, 
child, let us go down ! ” 

When they reached the lower floor Agnes was at 
first dazed and bewildered by the hum of voices, the 
glare of lights, and the splendor of the scene. Hin¬ 
dered by the crowd as they made their slow way 
towards the hostess, she had time, however, to recover 
her presence of mind and look about. Never before 
had she seen so beautiful a room. Lofty and spacious, 
it was finished in the same costly wood as the hall, 
and hung, moreover, with rare old tapestry whose 
dim colors formed a background for the brilliant and 
picturesque dresses of the company, — men as well as 
women, — which would have delighted the heart of a 
modern dilettante. 

With a scared yet fascinated look, Agnes clung 
close to her protector, who from time to time laugh¬ 
ingly whispered words of comfort in her ear, but 


VANITY FAIR. 


169 


who, despite all remonstrance, persisted in present¬ 
ing the crowd of gentlemen who pressed up to pay 
their respects, as a matter of course, to the lady of 
the Governor. 

Agnes could find little to say to these smiling gal¬ 
lants beyond a murmured yes or no; but happily their 
talk needed no very definite answer, and her silence 
doubtless passed for reserve or hauteur. With Mrs. 
Shirley’s watchful assistance she was thus getting 
along very fairly, and indeed just beginning to feel 
somewhat at ease, when presently in the midst of the 
throng she saw Frankland making towards them with 
a tall martial-looking figure on his arm. Panic-seized, 
she turned with a vague impulse of flight, but seeing 
no way of escape, and on the point of swooning with 
agitation, clutched Mrs. Shirley frantically by the 
sleeve. 

“ What is it, my dear?” 

But before she could answer, Captain Frankland 
with a look of marked admiration stood bowing before 
her. Quite losing her head and forgetting all her 
training, Agnes fell back upon her old Marblehead 
dialect as she stammered forth in reply to his elab¬ 
orate salutation: — 

“Ay, oi ha’ heer-rd th’ guns foired fur-r yer-r 
honor-r, ’n’ oi ha’ seen yer-r ship yonder-r i’ th’ 
hor-rbar-r! ” 

The Captain stared, and Frankland and Mrs. Shir¬ 
ley exchanged glances. Happily the music striking 
up made further conversation unnecessary, and the 
Collector, seized with a timely inspiration, led his 
ward out to dance. Nothing could have been better 


170 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


adapted to bring back to its old easy footing theit 
interrupted intercourse than the chance snatches of 
talk permitted by the dance. Straightway the heroic 
Frankland dissolved into thin air, and Agnes beheld 
before her a medium-sized, florid person, who uttered 
commonplaces in her ear and was none too well skilled 
in his steps. 

The effect of this metamorphosis was wholesome. 
Gradually all constraint and discomfiture disappeared 
from her manner, and forgetful of herself, forgetful 
of everything but her present happiness, into which 
in some way the cadence of the music and the rhyth¬ 
mic movement of the dance seemed interwoven as 
natural components, she glided through the familiar 
figures of the minuet in which Master Pelham had 
so thoroughly drilled her, with the grace of pure 
abandonment. 

Careless now of the company, and quite uncon¬ 
scious of the growing admiration she excited, Agnes 
went forth again and again to the dance, until in no 
long time the beauty and grace of the Collector’s 
ward became a subject of common comment in the 
room. 

Among her partners, moreover, it is to be noted, 
none paid her more marked and flattering attentions 
than the gallant commander of the “ Rose,” who 
would seem to have quite recovered from the shock 
of his first presentation. 

Naturally gratified by attentions from so distin¬ 
guished a man, and ashamed of the suspicions she 
had harbored against him, Agnes responded to his 
kindness with the most generous confidence, and 


VANITY FAIR. 


171 


forgetful of all distinctions in rank, talked to him 
with the unconstraint of old acquaintance. It was 
only on reaching home and living it all over in the 
solitude of her own chamber that she found, to her 
surprise, hovering in her mental atmosphere a little 
lone, bat-like misgiving, which set up a desperate 
fluttering at every awakened remembrance of the 
bold admiring gaze of the stranger. 

Henceforth, either out of compliment to the Col¬ 
lector or on account of the favorable impression she 
had herself created, Agnes was included in all the 
social movements of the season. There was a turtle- 
frolic at Cambridge, whither the company repaired in 
chairs and chaises; a horseback ride to Medford, to 
wait upon Mistress Penelope Royall at her father’s 
grand old mansion, — confiscated at the Revolution, 
but still standing to this very day,—where, from divers 
soft glances exchanged between the young hostess 
and handsome Henry Vassall, certain predictions were 
hazarded which time has long since fulfilled and 
history forgotten. 

Again, there was an entertainment at Faneuil Hall, 
described in the “ Evening Post ” as a “ Consort of 
Music for the benefit of the poor of the town . . . 
which will begin at half an hour after five in the 
! evening. . . . Tickets, ten shillings ea.” 

Following this came a country excursion to Mr. 
Quincy’s at Milton, where the whole party with much 
merriment took part in catching the eels they were 
to have cooked for supper from the brook at the 
bottom of the garden. 

Lastly, as a wind-up to the round of festivities, just 


172 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


before the sailing of the frigate there was a musical 
party at the Governor’s, where, after much persua¬ 
sion, Agnes placed herself at the harpsichord and 
sang several ballads to her own accompaniment. 
Even Mrs. Shirley and the Collector, who were aware 
of her vocal powers, were astonished at the perform¬ 
ance ; while as for Captain Frankland, who shared 
his brother’s musical taste, it was noted that for the 
rest of the evening he did not quit the singer’s side, 
and on breaking up was a long time in making his 
adieux. 

The Collector, with a coach-load of his own partic¬ 
ular friends, drove back to town to finish the night 
as usual in Garden Court Street. As this was their 
last opportunity ashore, the revelry was prolonged 
far into the morning. 

Here, naturally enough, as the cup circulated, the 
music they had heard kept running in their ears. 

“ Miss Surriage has a fine voice,” said one, as he 
recalled a favorite strain. 

“ Deuced fine! ” chimed in several others. 

“ Miss Surriage is a fine bird ! ” cried the Captain, 
raising his glass ; “ and here’s to her health! ” 

“ ’Gad ! but she is,” said the first speaker, with a 
wag of his head and an unctuous emphasis. “ She 
looked like a siren as she sang.” 

“ And she is a siren, too,” retorted the Captain, 
emphatically, as he set down his empty glass. 
“ Harry, my boy, you ’re a lucky dog ; were she not 
your prize, I’d carry her away disguised as a middy.” 

“Never mind him,— take her along! A civilian 
has no rights,” shouted a bibulous voice from the 




THE QUINCY MANSION 













VANITY FAIR. 173 

bottom of the table. 44 Besides, he deserves no such 
prize ; he knows not the worth of it.’* 

“ Hear, hear! No more does he ! The anchorite ! 
Not he! ” came in a confused chorus from all parts of 
the table. 

“ Gentlemen,” said the Collector, falling in with 
the tone of the meeting, “ the man who discovered 
this rare creature and rescued her from obscurity 
may fairly lay claim to some merit for taste and 
discernment.” 

44 Ah, but think how you treat her, man! ” rejoined 
his brother, growing warmer with the punch, — “ shut 
up yonder with that old griffin you tell of. Why 
not have her here at your own fireside to cheer your 
loneliness and glad you with her charms ? ” 

“Tut, tut! my friends,” exclaimed the Collector, 
shaking his head deprecatingly. 44 London manners 
and morals are not for this place.” 

A loud shout of derision rose from the whole party 
at this feeble attempt at a protest. 

44 D-n me! ” cried the Captain, pounding the 

table with his fist, “ if I don’t think you ’re turning 
Puritan, Hal! ” 

Overborne by the bacchanalian applause which 
greeted this thrust, the discomfited Collector blushed 
to find how fast he was losing metropolitan tone and 
polish in the wilds of America. 



CHAPTER XVI. 


A VISITOR. 

H ISTORY credits Frankland with a knowledge 
of natural science among his other accom¬ 
plishments ; and there is, indeed, good reason for 
believing that he had, besides a respectable acquaint¬ 
ance with botany, a love of horticulture and much 
taste and skill as a landscape gardener. 

In Agnes he found, to his delight, a kindred spirit. 
Although brought up on the sterile coast of Marble¬ 
head, she speedily developed, under his guidance, a 
great fondness for plant life and growth. This 
ripened, with indulgence, into a genuine passion, 
implying capabilities of sacrifice and suffering,— 
such as burning her fair face in the sun, thrust¬ 
ing her white hands into the dirt, or bending her 
supple back until it ached, in the daily struggle with 
weeds. 

They had at first much ado to get a bit of ground to 
till; but by the diplomatic gift of divers rare shrubs, 
the widow was at last won over to bestow upon the 
lodger an odd corner of the kitchen-garden. 

Directly a transformation took place in that neg¬ 
lected corner which amazed the widow and Mercy. 
Instead of a tangle of brambles and moribund herbs, 
it was speedily filled with curious and beautiful 


A VISITOR. 


175 


plants, all in thrifty state and healthful growth. 
Frankland, indeed, laid the world under contribution 
for this little patch of soil. Every time he came it 
was with some choice plant or seed fetched from 
abroad. 

The enthusiasm of his pupil meanwhile was inspir¬ 
ing. Nothing languished under her care. She came 
gradually to regard her plants as a family of living, 
sentient creatures, delicately responsive to nurture, 
and not incapable of gratitude. She claimed to detect 
in them marks of individuality and traits of charac¬ 
ter. With true lover instinct she puzzled out their 
virtues and foibles, and quite consistently insisted 
upon a lurking vegetable intelligence which prompted 
them to recognize her coming step in the morning 
and nod her a drowsy farewell from their dew-laden 
petals at night. 

Hers was the sort of enthusiasm which grows by 
what it feeds on. Hence the daily changes which 
took place in her little plant-family were of absorb¬ 
ing interest. Every evening she came running to 
meet Frankland at the gate, with a breathless 
account of them. 

“ Oh, what think you now! — come and look ! The 
Italian seeds are up: those with the outlandish name, 
planted next the hawthorn, — a score of them, and 
the drollest things, like little mouths all open. Yes, 
and one of the Dutch bulbs has sprouted, which we 
thought dead, you remember; and — oh, come hither 
quick and look, some dreadful creature is eating up 
all my rose-leaves ! ” 

The evening was Agnes’s gardening-time ; for what 


176 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


with her mornings given up to the harpsichord, and 
the middle day to Master Pelham, what other chance 
had she ? This was the question with which she 
triumphantly answered the widow’s objection that 
the best time for such work was the morning. 

“ Moreover, you might then miss the worshipful 
Collector’s aid,” added Mercy, demurely ; “ for’t is 
said he lieth abed of a morning.” 

Saturdays, however, there was no task, and Agnes 
spent a long, happy day among her flowers. There, 
as it chanced, she was busily at work as usual, one 
Saturday morning, when, hearing a click of the gate- 
latch, she turned about and saw a common-looking 
woman enter and come along the path. Pausing 
only to note that she was a stranger, Agnes went on 
with her work. 

“ Good-day to ye, miss ! ” said the woman, ap¬ 
proaching her. 

Agnes sprang to her feet and confronted the 
stranger with startled eyes. 

“ Con ye tell me ’f one Ag Surriage lodge her’ 
yet, ’n’ wher’ oi con get speech wi’ her ? ” pursued the 
woman, courtesying respectfully. 

Another minute and the astonished stranger 
recoiled with a cry of terror as Agnes, throwing 
rake and pruning-knife to the ground, sprang for¬ 
ward, and with a wild, inarticulate cry, seized her 
about the neck. 

“Eh, eh ! honds off! Let go o’ me ! Oi ha’ done 
no hor-rm! ” 

“ Mother — mother! ” 

“ Saunts i’ heaven ! ” 


A VISITOR . 


177 


■' 4 Don’t ye know yer own Ag ? ” 

“ My Ag ! ” echoed the woman, releasing herself, 
and drawing back to assure herself of the astounding 
fact; “yer never-r choild o’ moine! ” 

“ See for yourself! See, now! ” cried Agnes, 
throwing off her hat and looking close into her 
mother’s eyes. “ Now am I your own child — now 
am I Ag, or no ? ” 

“ Lord help me! ha’ oi lost my wits ? Ugh — ugh! 
ye’re takin’ my breath. Stond off a bit tell oi ha’ 
another-r look at ye! Ay, ay, th’ voice, th’ oies. 
Ay,” she continued, gazing in open-mouthed admira¬ 
tion, “cock-sur-re ’tis our-r Ag! Soul ’n’ body! 
such a gr-rond beauty ! Who’d ever-r thought choild 
o’ moine ’ud look loike this! ” 

“ Tush, tush ! What a fond old fool ye ’re grow¬ 
ing ! ” cried Agnes, patting affectionately her mother’s 
weather-beaten cheek. 

“Such a whoite face, ’n’ such whoite honds,— 
gi’ me hoult o’ ’em ! A’ glitter-rin’ wi’ r-rings, too! 
To think o’t — yer bein’ our-r Ag ! Dear-r, dear-r, 
yer for-rther’d never-r know ye, lass — never-r, he 
wud n’t.” 

“ Father, you say ! Where is he ? Did he come 
with you ? ” 

“ Not he ; thet he did n’t; never-r fear-r him goin’ 
onywher’ fro’ home, save to th’ Bonks.” 

“ But he is well ?” 

“ Ay, borrin’ a bit o’ rheumatics.” 

“ And Hugh, and Moll ? ” 

“ Th' young uns ! — gr-rown up out o’ a’ knowin’; 
but — eh* ther’s none o’ them loike ye, Ag. Wher’ 
12 


178 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


got ye a shape loike thet ? ’T is loike th’ figger-r o T 
a queen. Gi’ me yer honds agin — to think o’ a 
choild o’ moine wi’ honds loike thet — ther’s no 
mor-rk o’ toil ther’! ” concluded the dame in a tone 
of irrepressible pride. 

“ There should be, then, for I toil here every 
day.” 

“ Oh, ay ; a leddy’s spor-rt! ” exclaimed the dame, 
with a careless glance about at the flowers. 

The excitement of meeting and recognition over, 
Agnes took her mother into the house for rest and 
refreshment. 

“ Eh, ye say! — a’ this gr-rond chamber-r to yer- 
sel’! ” exclaimed the dame, on entering Agnes’s room. 
“ ’T is as much as we ha’ at home for young uns 
V a’.” 

Placing herself beside her mother in the window- 
seat, Agnes waved her hand mechanically toward the 
view, improving meanwhile her first opportunity to 
study the dame’s unconscious face with attention. 

“ Ay,” exclaimed the dame, understanding the 
motion, “ berryin’ gr-run hill is nowher’ ’n’ nothin’ 
besoide it.” 

A troubled look began, meanwhile, gradually to 
replace the expression of interest with which Agnes 
regarded her mother. Anxiously her eyes wandered 
from the vulgar features to the ungainly figure, over 
the coarse garb, and down upon the rough, toil-worn 
hand which she held in her own. 

The dame’s attention meanwhile was once more 
drawn to the interior. 

“ Never-r tell me, Ag,” she exclaimed in the 


A VISITOR. 179 

hushed tone of awe, — “ never-r tell me ye sleep i* 
yon gr-rond bed! ” 

The tone and expression recalled so vividly her 
own first impression of the widow’s heirloom, that 
Agnes burst into a sudden laugh. 

“ Ay, but’t was long before I could dream of any¬ 
thing but ghosts, for they say many of ’em have died 
on it.” 

“Oi worrnt ye,” said the dame, deeply inter¬ 
ested ; “ but an ye wor n’t a fisher-r lass ye’d never-r 
climb up to it wi’out a ledder-r. But wher’ got ye 
yon thing? ’T is loike the music-box at the Governor’s 
yonder-r.” 

But the former look had crept back into Agnes’s 
face, and she was not heeding. 

“ Eh, ye say ? ” 

“ ’T is mine,” exclaimed Agnes, recalled to her¬ 
self and pressing her mother’s hand with a sudden 
impulse as if of apology for her thought; “ and 
where should I get it but Mr. Frankland gave it to 
me ? ” 

“ ‘ Gev it,’ quo’ she ! Who ever-r heer-rd o’ th* 
loike! ” exclaimed the dame, approaching the harpsi¬ 
chord with an air of curiosity and reverence. “ An’ 
ha’ ye lor-rned to mak’ it go, Ag ? ” 

“ That I have, well-nigh equal to Master Pelham 
himself, they say.” 

“ Come hither-r, then; sit ye down an’ let us 
hear ! ” cried the dame, eagerly. 

“You think I have no toil, mother; you little 
know the hard toil goes to the learning of that.” 

“ Oi worrnt it, oi worrnt it; but sit ye down! 


180 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


sit ye down ! Oi ’ll believe nothin’ but my own senses 
i’ th’ motter-r.” 

Agnes seated herself at the instrument and sang 
some familiar airs, while Goody Surriage stood bal¬ 
ancing now on one foot and now on the other, quite 
unable to restrain her delight. 

“ Eh, eh, thet oi should live to see’t I An yer for- 
ther-r cud but hear-r ye! ’T is loike aungels singin’ 
in glor-ry! A choild o’ moine too! Eh, eh, oi ’ll be 
blubber-rin’ i’ another minit! Oi’d gi’ me last shil¬ 
lin’ thet th’ young uns moight see ye now! Oh, Ag, 
Ag ! oi hope’t is not sinfu’, lass; but me old her-rt is 
fu* o’ proide thet oi ha’ borne ye! ” 

Agnes rose suddenly and clasped her mother tightly 
in her arms. Was it the revolt of Nature against some 
unfilial impulse? Why else was the kiss she im¬ 
printed on the unsuspecting woman’s lips so like a 
caress of atonement ? Even the obtuse fishwife 
detected something wrong in the long-drawn sigh 
with which her daughter at length walked away to 
the window. The good woman would never have 
interpreted it as a note of struggle and penitence. 
Happily for her such a thought was inconceivable. 
Physical ills alone had been given her to battle with 
in life. Sordid cares had choked out any tender 
sproutings of sentiment, and the healthful sea-breezes 
blown away all morbid anxiety. 

“ Is somethin’ th’ motter-r wi’ ye ? ” she contented 
herself with asking. 

“ What should be the matter with me ? ” 

“ Nothin’; nothin’ i’ th’ woide war-rid thet oi can 
see,” returned the dame, easily satisfied. 


A VISITOR . 


181 


Thus, quite taken up with her own happiness and 
in gratifying her curiosity at the many novel things 
in her daughter’s surroundings, she failed to remark 
the anxious, preoccupied look with which Agnes sat 
conning her face while she rehearsed with garrulous 
detail the neighborhood news from Little Harbor. 
One speech of her daughter’s the dame did not 
understand. 

After dinner, with the intent of taking her mother 
out to see the town, Agnes put on a suitable dress 
for the occasion, when the dame was thrown straight¬ 
way into new fits of enthusiasm. 

“ Eh, is it you ? Stond yonder; tur-m about, now. 
So, oi connot trust my own soight. Oi thet ha’ suck¬ 
led ye at my own br-reast ’ud never-r know ye for-r 
Ag Surriage. Eh, but oi durst not go for-rth wi’ ye. 
A’ th’ folks ’ll be cryin’ out, ‘ Who’s th’ old fish- 
woife walkin’ wi’ yon gr-rond leddy ? ’ ” 

The dame’s raptures in this instance, instead of 
moving her laughter as at first, seemed to grate upon 
Agnes’s nerves, for she cried: — 

“ Have done, will you, with such foolishness! ” 

“ Eh, but ther’ was a touch o’ th’ old Ag for ye! ” 
exclaimed her mother, laughing. 

Goody Surriage, having seized the opportunity of 
coming to Boston with one of her neighbors who had 
run up in his ketch for a load of salt, was obliged 
to return the same afternoon when the errand was 
accomplished. 

Agnes went to the wharf to see her off. The poor 
dame was so delighted and busied with her various 
gifts of cast-off clothing, fruit, confectionery, pipes 


182 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


and tobacco for the old man, and, best of all, a 
broad gold piece which she held tightly clutched in 
her hand, that she did not think of the parting until 
just as the ketch was about to swing out from the 
dock. 

Warned by the fisherman that the last moment 
had come, Agnes folded her mother suddenly in her 
arms, kissed her fervently again and again, and 
stepped quickly over the gunwale back to the 
wharf. 

Realizing that the parting was over, the dame broke 
into a loud wail: — 

“ Oh, Ag, Ag! — eh, but’t is breakin’ my her-rt to 
pa-art wi’ ye! Oh, my choild, when be ye cornin’ back? 
When be ye cornin’ home to live wi’ us ? ” 

Agnes stared at her mother a little wildly; the 
question was unexpected and startling. 

“It cannot surely be long now,” pursued the dame. 
“ Ye ha’ lor-rned to play the music-box, ye sing loike 
an aungel, ’n’ yer a gret scholard, one may know 
by yer speech. Ye ’ll be cornin’ soon, eh, —ye ’ll be 
cornin’ soon, oi say ? ” repeated the anxious mother in 
a louder key as the boat drifted farther away and 
the busy fisherman hoisted his sail. 

“I- Why I — I don’t — ” 

Agnes was still stammering and laboring over her 
answer when the little ketch swept out of ear-shot. 
She filled the blank by waving her handkerchief. 
She waved it vigorously, waved it continuously, 
waved it until her arm must have ached to the 
shoulder, waved it indeed until the little ketch had 
faded to a mere speck in the offing and the weeping 


A VISITOR. 


183 


dame must have had the eye of an Argonaut to dis¬ 
tinguish it, and then turned back into the town with 
a fixed, blank look, from which it was clear enough 
that her whole action had been perfunctory. 

In the same rapt mood she went home. There in 
the garden she found her rake and pruning-knife still 
lying upon the ground where she had thrown them 
in the morning, and mechanically set to work upon 
her flowers. 

Directly through the open kitchen-window close 
at hand came the voice of the widow putting her 
slaves through their regular weekly catechism. “ Re¬ 
member the Sabbath-day to keep it holy! ” 

Agnes started and dropped her rake; the sun had 
already set and the Lord’s Day begun. 

Picking up her tools presently to go in, she stood 
for a space gazing abstractedly at the western glow, 
still pondering her mother’s question. 

A step upon the gravel drew her attention; she 
turned and saw Frankland coming down the path. 

Surprise for a moment unnerved her. Springing 
forward she seized his hand and cried impulsively: 

“ You!” 

The next moment the rich blood in a rosy wave 
swept over her face and presently retreating left it 
paler than before. 

Frankland gazed at her in surprise. Naturally, he 
could not account for this sudden exhibition of feel¬ 
ing. For some reason she said nothing about her 
mother’s visit; neither did she talk about her flow¬ 
ers. She was unusually silent. But for her welcom¬ 
ing action at the outset he might have thought hia 


184 


AGNES S UR RI AGE. 


visit mistimed. Thus they walked up and down the 
paths in silence as the light faded from the sky. 

“ Wait! ” she said, when at last he made a move 
to go ; “ you shall take some roses home.” 

Plucking some generous sprays of blossoms, she 
assorted them as she went toward him, thrusting 
two or three discarded buds in her hair and bodice. 

“Stay!” he cried, gazing at her in admiration, 
“ you shall have your portrait painted in that very 
guise. You never looked so beautiful in your life, 
child ! Egad ! ” he cried, turning her about toward 
the light. “ I ’ll go see old Smybert about it as sure 
as the morrow dawns. It shall be as you are now, 
mind, with the flowers in your hair and neck! ” 

“ Here are your roses! ” murmured Agnes, abashed 
by his ardor. 

“ This is the rose I would fain have! ” he cried, 
suddenly folding her in his arms. “Agnes, Agnes, 
darling, I can do without you no longer ! ” 

Overcome by the suddenness of the movement 
and the fervor of the avowal, Agnes lay for a mo¬ 
ment passive in his arms. Then roused by a passing 
reflection she struggled for release. 

“ No, no ; you forget — let me go ! ” 

“ You shall not! ” 

“ I must — it — it cannot be! ” 

“ And why ?” 

“I — I know not — but — ” 

She stopped. Back to her mind with warning 
vividness came the image of that little ketch fading 
away upon the horizon, and with it the past — her 
old life, her childhood’s home — seemed to fade far, 


A VISITOR. 


185 


far out of reach, out of interest, out of all possible 
connection with her forevermore; and in place of 
all, her heart was flooded with a strange new hap¬ 
piness as a dear voice whispered in her ear: — 

“ Do you not love me, Agnes ? ” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


THE PORTRAIT. 

TUST south of the Orange-Tree inn, which in the 
^ old days marked the corner of Hanover and 
Queen Streets, stood John Smybert’s studio. It was 
indeed through the honest old Scotsman’s estate that 
Brattle Street in aftertimes burst forth into Scollay 
Square. 

Having crept into art, as it were, through the 
back door, Smybert showed his right to remain by 
honest hard work and sufficient merit. Though a 
bit of a doctrinaire he never let theories cloud his 
clear vision of the main chance ; and although the 
pioneer of portrait-painting in the New World, and 
the forerunner of a long line of distinguished artists 
who have been born or found a home in Boston, it 
is to be doubted whether any of them ever had a 
fuller strong-box or kept a better state. 

“ Ready an’ waiting, ye see,” cried the shrewd- 
looking little artist, as Frankland and Agnes one 
morning appeared at the door of his studio. “ Come 
ben, come ben! And this is the young leddy,” he 
continued, casting a professional glance at his sub¬ 
ject. “ Gude-day to ye, miss ! I hope I see ye well. 
Frankland ’n’ I are auld acquaintance, as ye may 


THE PORTRAIT 


187 


surmise. Sit down till ye get your breath! ’T is a 
braw licht for a sittin’; the domned sun’s a wee bit 
wi’drawn. Sae,” he continued, noting Agnes’s curi¬ 
ous looks, “ ye were ne’er in an airtist’s warkshop 
afore ; speer aboot; tak’ yer time an’ speer aboot 
gin ye see onything strikes yer fancy! ” 

“ No, no,” interposed Frankland. “ I am in haste 
this morning, and must be off, and I want the pose 
settled before I go. Never fear ! she will have time 
enough to get acquainted with every crook and 
cranny of your wretched garret here if you are no 
more expeditious than some others of your brethren 
of the palette.” 

“ Weel, weel, ha’ yer crack at us! I dinna mind 
ye. ‘ Mak’ haste slow ! ’ is a gude auld sayin’, ’n’ I 
wadna hurry a portrait at the bidding o’ the King him- 
sel’; but a’ is in readiness, as I said afore. Egad, 
sir! ” he continued, aside to Frankland, as Agnes 
threw off her wraps, “ but she’s a braw lass; I had 
na sic a subject sin’ I set foot upon thae shores. — 
Please ye come hither, miss; here’s wher’ I ha’ fixed 
for ye to sit, wi’ the licht cornin’ frae the side! Sit 
back a wee bit in yer chair! Sae! Noo haud up yer 
head a wee ; there! an’ — Stay, let yer hand fa’ 
o’er th’ chair! Noo pu’ back yer sleeve to show 
yer bonny arm, — ay, sae ! Noo haud yer breath an’ 
dinna stir till I tak’ a squint at ye ! Eh, sir,” he 
muttered aside to Frankland, as he walked to the 
back part of the room to study the pose, “an I 
could but strip awa’ that domned flummery o’ lace 
an’ show a mair liberal glimpse o’ yon lovely bosom, 

wad be anither thing a’taegither.” 


188 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Were it not better she should be looking at the 
rose in her hand ?” asked the Collector, studying the 
subject with a connoisseur air. 

“ Na, na, that wad it not. I wadna miss the licht 
o’ that ee frae the canvas for warlds. ,, 

“ Sit up a little straighter, Agnes! ” cried out the 
Collector, seized with another inspiration. 

“ Do naething o’ the soort, lass! Never mak* a 
poker o’ yersel at ony man’s biddin’! Gang yer ain 
gait ’n’ attend to yer business, Maister Collector, gin 
ye ha’ naething better to offer! ” 

Frankland laughed and walked back and forth 
squinting at the subject from different points of view 
while the busy little artist adjusted her draperies. 

“ There, noo, ye ’re a’ ready, ’n’ ye 're fit to be either 
a Venus or a Madonna, I canna say whilk,” cried the 
painter at last in a tone of great satisfaction. 

“ Humph! yes,” said the Collector, critically; 
“that will do very well.” 

The artist placed his easel in position, arranged his 
canvas and began to make a rough crayon sketch, 
while the Collector peered curiously over his shoulder, 
looking up at the sitter to verify the truth of every 
stroke. 

Presently there came a knock at the door. The 
artist muttered a malediction at the interruption and 
went on with his work. A second and third time 
the knock was repeated with increasing force and 
pertinacity before the reluctant Smybert bawled out 
in forbidding tones a summons to enter. 

The door promptly opened, and an anxious-looking 
matron appeared on the threshold. The painter did 


THE PORTRAIT. 


189 


not lock up, yet his whole person, from his shoe- 
buckles to his rusty wig, bristled with an air of irri¬ 
tated recognition. 

“ Good-day to ye, Misther Smybert! ” 

“ Gude-day, Mistress Pelham! ” 

“ Is my Johnny here ? ” 

“ Canna ye see for yersel’, my gude woman ? ” 
answered the artist, impatiently. 

“ Faith, av he ’s not, wher’s this Pm to sarch for 
him, the botherin’ young rogue? Here’t is market- 
day, ’n’ I wid sorra a soul to lave behoind to moind 
the shop. Ah, he’s the plague o’ my loife, so he is! ” 
At this moment a suppressed sneeze was heard be¬ 
hind a screen in the corner. Frankland and Agnes 
started. The artist looked discomfited, and after a 
minute’s pause, seeing that further concealment was 
in vain, with an affectation of astonishment he strode 
across the room, and throwing down the screen dis¬ 
closed a small boy of twelve or thirteen perched upon 
a stool busily engaged at a charcoal drawing. 

“Jock, what are ye doin’ hidin’ there, ye young 
rascal ? ” cried the artist, peevishly. “ Dinna ye hear 
yer mither speerin’ for ye? ” 

“ Come home out o’ that, ye bad boy! ” interjoined 
the mother. “ It’s takin’ all me toime, it is, racin’ 
the sthreets afther ye. Ye ’ll coome to no good, 
so ye won’t, lavin’ yer books an’ yer task an’ wastin’ 
yer toime wid that nasty coal! Luk at the hands 
o’ ye!” 

Pushing the reluctant boy before her, the indig¬ 
nant matron withdrew without the ceremony of 
leave-taking. 


190 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


“ Who are your friends ? ” asked the Collector with 
an amused look as the door closed on the pair. 

“Little Jock Copley an’ his mither, the Widow 
Pelham. 

“ To be sure ; she that keeps the tobacco-shop. I 
take shame to myself for not having recognized the 
good dame, for I buy all my snuff of her.” 

“An’ gude snuff it is, too,” returned Smybert, 
taking out his box, tapping the lid mechanically, and 
offering it to the Collector while he stepped back to 
take a look at his work, — “ the best Maccaboy to be 
had in the province. Raise yer chin a wee bit, lass, 
an’ dinna be afeard to breathe as hard as ye like.” 

“ And so little Copley is learning to draw ? ” con¬ 
tinued Frankland, walking over to inspect the child’s 
work. 

“ That is he, that is he; an’ hae the richt stuff in 
him, too, gin his mither ’ud haud off her hand.” 

“ Egad ! but he has ! Did the brat do this ? ” cried 
Frankland, eyeing the sketch in amazement. 

“ Every line o’t did he ; ay, he’s bound to go 
far ahead o’ his auld maister ane o’ thae days.” 

“ ’T is a pity, then, I had not engaged him for the 
portrait, since he has the more talent.” 

“Gang yer gait! gang yer gait, Mr. Collector! 
ye ’re naething but a disthraction here ! ” 

“ Good ! I am off, and only too glad to leave you; 
but when will this operation be over ? ” 

“ Twal o’clock or ther’aboot. I ’ll not mak’ the 
first sitting o’er lang.” 

“ No; three hours is long enough in all conscience. 
I will try to look in then and see how you get along.” 


THE PORTRAIT. 


191 


44 Dinna pit yersel’ oot.” 

Frankland went away laughing at this parting shot, 
and the little painter settled down to his work. 

“ Eh, but he’s a fine lad, that,” he said presently, 
pausing to pick a new brush. “ ’Tis a sight for sair 
een, — that bonny face o’ his; an’ he’s naebody’s fule, 
either, is the Collector; he hae seen gude wark at 
hame, an’ kens a portrait frae a sign-board.” 

“ Yes,” assented the sitter, with a gratified look, 
“ he knows a great deal.” 

“ Ay, ay! too muckle for thae soort here; ther’s 
a pair o’ us. We’re like pearls cast to swine amang 
thae heathen who hae nae mair notion o’ airt than 
the beasts o’ the field. But he ’ll na be for bidin’ 
here mony months langer, I’m thinkin’.” 

“ Why do you think that ? ” faltered the sitter. 

“ There needs na prophet to foretell what onybody 
can see for himsel’. He ’ll hae a chaunce yonder 
when his ain pairty coomes in, whilk it’s bound soon 
to do. Tut, tut! haud up yer head, lass ! I’m wark- 
in’ on yer ee. Na, he’s ne’er the lad to bide here, 
wastin’ his life i’ the wilderness, when he can hae 
what he wants for the askin’ at hame. Gude guide 
us! Wher’ be a’ yer blithe looks gane? Gin ye ’re 
weary o’ sittin’ — ” 

“ No, no ! ” exclaimed the sitter, straightening up 
in her chair with a forced expression of cheerfulness. 
“ I am not weary.” 

“ Gude ! sae turn yer ee a hair’s-breadth mair this 
way. Richt; noo haud that— Na, as I was aboot to 
say, the Collector comes o’ auncient stock, frae th’ auld 
Protector himsel’ 5 they ’re a prood ’n’ stiff-necked 


192 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


race, ’t is said, wi’ baith riches V power. He ’s 
the elder son, too, is the Collector, — heir to the title 
on the death o’ his uncle, an’ a fortune, too, gin he does 
naethin’ to mak’ th’ auld mon disaffected— Ther’ ye 
go again, lass, wi’ yer head an’ yer ee turned awa’ !— 
but gin he miss the money he maun e’en find a for¬ 
tune wi’ his wife — Eh, but I mout better gi’ o’er 
an’ hae done wi’ it; ye look mair dolefu’ than a 
tombstone.” 

The sitter made renewed efforts, but without avail, 
to bring back her looks and spirits to the high key 
with which they had started. To the increasing as- 
tonishment of the artist, her face lapsed into deeper 
and deeper gloom. 

Thinking perhaps it might be due to the irksome¬ 
ness of sitting still, worthy Smybert allowed his sitter 
frequent rests, entertained her with a variety of talk, 
including some quaint stories, and in fine exhausted 
his resources, but all to no purpose. 

The moment she was released, the sitter put on 
her bonnet and cloak with all possible speed, and 
turning to the amazed painter said curtly : — 

“You need give yourself no more trouble about 
that,” pointing to the canvas. “ I shall never come 
to have it finished.” 

“ Eh, what’s the steer noo ? ” 

The sitter without answer tied the strings of her 
gypsy bonnet tightly under her chin and turned 
to go. 

“ Hae I offended ye ? ” cried the artist in conster¬ 
nation. 

“No.’' 


THE PORTRAIT. 


193 


u What*s ta’en ye, then ? ” 

“ I have changed my mind.” 

u Chaunged yer min’! Humph! sae ye hae chaunged 
yer min’?— Weel now, lassie, that winna do; I 
hae na chaunged my min’; I hae contracted to paint 
ye, an’ we maun e’en gae on.” 

“ Go on then by yourself as long as you like; you ’ll 
not see me again! ” 

And with a crisp good-day she swept from the 
room, leaving the nonplussed artist to puzzle over the 
cause of her strange behavior. 

Coming out of the house, Agnes found Frankland 
just alighting from his chaise at the door. She 
would have passed, but that with smiling impera¬ 
tiveness he took her hand and lifted her into the 
vehicle before she well knew what had happened. 

“And how comes on the portrait?” he asked 

gayiy- 

“ ’T is well enough.” 

“ When are you to go again ? ” 

“ I ’ll go no more.” 

“ How now ? ” he cried, stooping to peep under hei 
bonnet. “ Have you and worthy old Smybert had a 
falling out ? ” 

“ No.” 

“ What has happened ? ” 

“ Nothing at all.” 

“ What did he say, then ? That busy old tongue 
of his is always wagging.” 

“ It is nothing to you.” 

“ Heyday! And why nothing to me ? 99 

“ You are so soon to go away.” 

13 


194 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“Indeed!” 

The Collector made another searching examination 
of the averted face, and a look of intelligence like 
a passing flash of light swept over his own. 

“ And where am I going, pray?” he asked quietly 
after a little pause. 

“ You know best yourself.” 

“ Why, no; it would seem that you and Smybert 
are better informed.” 

“ Are you not then soon going to quit America ? ” 

“ ’T is not unlikely I may,” returned the Collector, 
dryly, but with evanescent flashes of humor about 
the eyes. 

“ Then how dare you make such a fool o’ me to 
have my picture painted ? ” cried Agnes, flashing up 
like tinder. 

“ Because I wanted it.” 

“ You shall never have it.” 

“Because,” pursued the Collector, with an evident 
enjoyment of the scene, “ I want to remember in after 
years how you looked when you were young — ” 

“ It will be nothing to you then how I looked,” 
interrupted Agnes, bitterly. 

“ And besides,” concluded the Collector, quietly, 
“ it may be a consolation to your mother while you 
are gone.” 

There was an arrested movement in the bonneted 
head to turn around for a look of inquiry. 

“ For,” he continued, putting his arm about her and 
drawing her close to him, “ whenever I go and where- 
ever I go, even to the uttermost parts of the earth, a 
certain other little person is to go with me.” 


THE PORTRAIT 


195 


At this moment the horse of his own accord drew 
up before the widow’s door, when Frankland, under 
cover of the chaise-top, gently lifted his companion’s 
face for a farewell kiss, and discovered two cheeks 
burning with shame and two eyes swimming with 
tears; and when the Collector called after her as she 
went up the gravel-walk, “ You ’ll go like a good girl 
for another sitting to-morrow?” the crestfallen sitter 
could find no voice for reply, but turning about with 
downcast eyes and a shamefaced air courtesied a silent 
assent. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


MIDNIGHT PLOTTING. 

NE evening not long after the sittings for the 



portrait began, Frankland called with his horse 
and chaise to take Agnes to Roxbury. They went 
at the special request of Mrs. Shirley, who wanted 
her husband to hear Agnes sing, and had made the 
engagement the Sunday previous as she and Frank¬ 
land were coming out from morning service at King’s 
Chapel. 

The sun had just set when they started ; a yel¬ 
low glow shut in by a bank of clouds lingered above 
the heights at Muddy River, while far to the left the 
Blue Hills of Milton gleamed like amethysts in the 
distance. They took their time in going, loitering 
almost to a walk along the marshy road that led 
across the Neck, where the fire-flies twinkled all 
about them in the neighboring marshes and the 
crickets and tree-toads filled the air with twilight 
clamor. 

Arrived at the Governor’s, they were puzzled at 
their reception. Mrs. Shirley’s manner was distant 
and almost forbidding; it was quite clear she had 
forgotten the engagement. Formally civil, of course, 
in her greeting, she yet bade them no farther in than 


MIDNIGHT PLOTTING . 197 

the ante-room, where she sat down to talk with a 
preoccupied air and wandering attention. 

“ And where is his Excellency ? ” asked Frankland. 

“ I am sorry to say he is not at home,” was the 
guarded answer. 

“ What pressing matter can have taken him back 
to town to-night ? ” continued the Collector, idly. 

“I don’t — that is, he — it is some official business, 
I believe.” 

Frankland stared. He had never before seen 
Madam so disconcerted; but notwithstanding the 
fact that their visit was plainly ill-timed, he was too 
much of an Englishman to allow himself unjustly to 
be put in the wrong. He accordingly remarked, quite 
pointedly, in reply to this halting explanation, — 

“His Excellency must be called to account for 
running away when his lady invites company out to 
sing to him.” 

“His Excellency, unhappily, is not favored with 
the leisure of some of his brother officials, and has 
something more imperative than music to attend to,” 
retorted her ladyship in a tone quite too sharp for 
her own house. She saw her mistake directly, and 
rising with a little air of bustle added with the next 
breath, “ But that surely need not interfere with our 
pleasure; come, let us go into the drawing-room 1 
Oblige me, Mr. Frankland! ” she continued, leading 
the way; “ open the harpsichord and bring forth the 
music while I ring for more candles ! ” 

Seeming at first to take her usual interest in the 
music, Mrs. Shirley called for her favorite pieces and 
commended the performance intelligently. But it 


198 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


soon became evident that it was only surface atten* 
tion she was giving them, and that the core of her 
mind was profoundly occupied with something very 
different. Absorbed in their performance, the sing¬ 
ers did not at first see this; it was only when Agnes, 
after a long duet, turned about to discuss some strain 
in it and discovered her hostess at the window in an 
attitude of strained expectation, that she awoke to 
the situation. With a woman’s sympathy she di¬ 
rectly made a move to go. With a man’s obtuseness, 
Frankland became obstructive. 

“ Why, we are but just come, my dear; are you so 
soon tired ? ” 

“ I am not tired,” said Agnes with uncompromising 
honesty. 

“ Then, begging your pardon, we will not go.” 

“ Nay, but we must,” whispered Agnes; and with¬ 
out another word she went straight to Mrs. Shirley 
to take leave. Frankland stared after her, nonplussed 
at this sudden obstinacy. Hitherto in social matters 
6 he had left him to take the lead. He was quite 
inclined to be vexed. 

“ I don’t know what we are going home for,” he 
said suggestively to Mrs. Shirley. 

The latter simply courtesied and thanked him for 
his visit. Whether from preoccupation or intent, her 
manner could not have been more significant. There 
was no room for another word on the part of the Col¬ 
lector, and he moodily took his leave. 

Coming forth into the night, they found the weather 
greatly changed. Thick clouds covered the whole 
sky, and far or near there was not a gleam of light 


MIDNIGHT PLOTTING. >99 

save for the bobbing lanterns on the chaise, which 
only served to make more intense the outer gloom. 

Drawn by a swift and powerful horse, they set 
forth at a breakneck pace. The driver, perched on 
a low seat in front, held his mettled beast well in 
hand, but kept him to his speed with the intent of 
getting home before the storm broke. Sure of his 
way, he took little account of the condition of the 
road, which along the Neck abounded in pits and 
hollows. Despite his own skill and his stout vehicle, 
he was doomed to pay the penalty of his folly; for, 
bounding suddenly over a high hump on one side of 
the road, he plunged the next moment into a deep 
rut on the other, whence, in trying to extricate him¬ 
self, he wrenched off a wheel. 

With a loud imprecation on the man for his care¬ 
lessness, Frankland sprang out to see what could 
be done. With some straps and cord they tried to 
repair the broken chaise so that it might at least drag 
them home ; but after a long time wasted they aban¬ 
doned the futile effort, and Frankland bade the man 
make the best of his way back to Roxbury for the 
night, while he and Agnes set forth on foot for home. 

They had not gone far when a muttering of thun¬ 
der above their heads warned them of the impending 
storm. Soon the lightning came in blinding flashes, 
lighting up the road for a long distance and then 
leaving them to flounder in pitchy darkness. 

Next, a few big scattering drops rattled round 
them like the skirmishers of an advancing host which 
itself came on without loss of time. Frankland 
stripped off his coat to put upon Agnes. She laughed 


200 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


at the notion, and they had a little quarrel about it, 
in which he prevailed. 

What with the storm and darkness, it was late 
when they reached town. They were both drenched; 
but Agnes made so light of the discomfort that Frank- 
land could not complain. They were, however, glad 
enough to find themselves near home, for the rain 
was growing heavier and the wind momently increas¬ 
ing in violence. Coming from the north, it blew 
directly in their faces ; indeed, as thej r reached the 
Province House such a gust swept up Marlborough 
Street that they were fain to dodge behind the hedge 
and catch their breath. It was while crouching in 
their momentary shelter that Frankland noticed a 
light gleaming in the old mansion. 

“What’s doing here?” he muttered, as the light 
was seen to move from room to room. 

“ They ’re opening the door,” whispered Agnes. 

“And the light has disappeared. Hush ! did you 
hear voices ? ” 

“ Yes, and I can see somebody moving.” 

“Two — three,” counted Frankland as several dark 
figures emerged from the shadow of the porch and 
glided down the front steps. 

“They ’re coming this way,” whispered Agnes 
with a shudder; “ let us run ! ” 

“ Now for another flash of lightning to make out 
these conspirators.” 

“ They ’re close at hand. Mercy on us I ” 

“ Hark! ” 

Holding fast to Frankland’s arm, Agnes waited in 
terrified suspense as three figures, wrapped each in a 



THE PROVINCE HOUSE 













MIDNIGHT PLOTTING . 


201 


ong cloak, came slowly toward them down the path. 
They stopped near the gate, and their voices could 
be plainly heard. 

“ Despatch and secrecy are indispensable. ’T is 
dangerous confiding such a project to so large a body • 
but what are we to do ? ” 

u ’T is his Excellency himself,” whispered Agnes 
with a gasp of relief. 

“ Do it without ’em, then; they’d only obstruct the 
business, d-n ’em ! Rely on your private friends.” 

“Impossible I Men and money must be had; 
f t would cost an immense sum.” 

“ I will pledge your Excellency my whole fortune, 
barring bread and butter for my children.” 

“ Ah, Auchmuty, if everybody had but your zeal! ” 

“ And I,” exclaimed a third voice, “ will give you 
£500, and myself lead a regiment to the assault.” 

“Thanks, thanks, Gibson! if I had but a hundred 
men of your spirit — ” 

“There is Colonel Vaughan will do as much as 
we.” 

“ Ay, ay, I have not a doubt of him ; you are a 
goodly trio. But trust me, gentlemen; be guided 
by my experience. This is a step too vast to be un¬ 
dertaken except with the full strength and concur¬ 
rence of the whole province.” 

“ Then must we give up all thought of a surprise ? ” 

“ I hope not. I think by making a strong appeal 
to the General Court and impressing upon them the 
absolute need of secrecy, we may keep it mum, at 
least until the expedition is started, when it will be 
too late for the enemy to call for succor.” 


202 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ But it will take a week to beat it into their heads, 
and no time is to be lost. By the latest advices the 
French fleet is already under way; and if it comes in 
time to relieve the fortress, there is not force enough 
in the country to take the place.” 

“ Depend upon me ; no time shall be lost,” said the 
Governor, firmly. “ I shall call a secret session of the 
General Court to-morrow, boldly lay it before them, 
put every man upon his honor, make a strong appeal, 
and take the chances. Meantime, gentlemen, much 
depends upon your zeal and secrecy. Let us hope 
for the best. The downfall of that nest of vipers 
means freedom for America. Good-night, good-night! 
I count upon your loyalty and prudence.” 

“ And shall not count in vain,” said Auchmuty. 
“Ay,” cried Gibson in a voice which rose high 
above the storm, “now that we have a leader worthy 
of the name we will follow to the death. Only set 
the ball in motion! Lead us on ! lead us on ! ” 

“ Sh-h ! Stone walls have ears,” answered the Gov¬ 
ernor, cautiously. “ Patience, gentlemen ; and depend 
on me to do all that man can do. Good-night again! ” 
The three moved on and disappeared in the 
darkness. 

“ ’T is against the French; there is some great 
expedition on foot, and I have not heard of it,” ex¬ 
claimed Frankland, in a tone of chagrin. “ I will 
not forgive Shirley.” 

“ You ! ” cried Agnes in a startled tone. 

“But I will demand a commission; he shall see I 
Will have a hand in this business yet! ” 

“ Nay, but you shall not 1 ” cried Agnes in alarm, 


MIDNIGHT PLOTTING. 


203 


seizing his arm energetically; “’t is against those 
bloody Frenchers, an’ you’d never come off alive- 
You shall not budge a step! ” 

“ Why should you care ? ” asked Frankland, for¬ 
getting his pique at the Governor in gratification at 
this burst of feeling. 

• “ Have done with your trifling! ” returned Agnes, 
impatiently. 

“ What matters one life, more or less ? Besides, I 
should stand as good chance of escape as another, 
and — ” 

“Have done, I say! I will hear no more of it! 
Stop, now,” she continued beseechingly, as he was 
about to interrupt. 

“ There is but one sure way of stopping my mouth,” 
he said, suiting an appropriate action to the word. 
“ Ugh-h! love, your lips are like ice ; you are freezing 
out here. Let us get home. Come! Come ! ” 

Once more breasting the storm, they made the best 
of their way to the North End. Here, turning the 
corner of Tileston and Hanover Streets, they came 
upon an officious watchman who flashed a lantern in 
their faces until reassured by a word from the Col¬ 
lector he passed on, and the next moment made the 
welkin ring, crying the hour. 

“ Midnight! ” Agnes cried aghast. “ Father of 
Mercies! it cannot — it cannot be midnight! ” 

“ And what if it is ? ” asked Frankland, calmly. 

“ I could n’t — I’d never dare arouse Widow Ruck 
at this time o’ night. Oh,” she continued in tones of 
pure consternation, “ what shall I do ? I was never 
up at such an awful hour before ! ” 


204 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


They had arrived at the garden-gate, and stood 
looking up at the house wrapped in silence and gloom. 
Holding fast to Frankland’s arm, Agnes looked help¬ 
lessly to him for a suggestion. 

Seized by an impulse as spontaneous as if caught 
from the electric fluid playing about them in the 
surcharged air, he cried: — 

“ Leave her, then! Leave her now and forever, 
and come with me!” 

“ You! ” repeated Agnes, making a vague move¬ 
ment to withdraw. 

“ With me, where a home has long been waiting 
for you. ’T is time you came to take it. Agnes, 1 ” 
he went on, gently taking her hands, “ wherever we 
are together, there is home ; we can never know any 
other home. Here — here is your real home, upon 
my heart. Come, come, then ! ” 

“ Wh — I — what are you saying ? ” she asked, 
in a bewildered way. “ It is midnight — it is rain¬ 
ing ; I must go in — ” 

“ Agnes, listen! God is witness of our love ; God 
knows our hearts, and that we shall be faithful to 
each other. Why, then, should we care what men 
may think ? ” 

“ Nay, I care not what anybody says, if you honor 
me with your love.” 

“ Come, come, then, with me to a home that will 
never be locked against you, — to your own true 
home! ” 

“ What talk is this you hold to me ? ” 

“ Agnes — Agnes ! ” he cried, clasping her passion* 
ately in his arms, “ I offer you all that I can, — my 


MIDNIGHT PLOTTING. 


205 


home, my fortune, my heart, my eternal love, — all 
but my mere name, an empty sound.” 

“ Eh ! ” she gasped, struggling to free herself. 

“Nay, listen: an iron law, — a cruel, brutal law 
forbids me this; but let it not keep us apart! Have 
pity on me! Come with me now to your own 
home! ” i 

“ Let go your hold! ” she cried in alarm. “ Ye 
scare me; ’t is the Evil One is talking! Let go, I 
say! ” 

Throwing him off with all her force, she ran 
swiftly to the house, and seizing the ponderous brass 
knocker plied it with frenzied hand until the whole 
neighborhood resounded with the blows. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


MARS AND CUPID, 


OT many days went by before the town got 



wind of his Excellency’s midnight scheme. 
For weeks there had been mysterious whisperings 
about the streets, confidential groups in the corridors 
of the Town House, and much private closeting of 
strangers and officials with his Excellency. A dozen 
fantastic rumors were started, but nothing definite 
was known until one morning an ingenuous but 
too zealous member of the General Court was over¬ 
heard at his lodgings loudly invoking the Divine 
blessing upon the purposed expedition against Louis- 


bourg. 


The news spread like wild-fire. A thrill ran through 
the community, a stirring of the blood and a creeping 
of the flesh. The bold were electrified, the timid 
dismayed. Wiseacres scoffed at a tale so incredible, 
but were presently put down by the plain facts, 
when the truth was established beyond peradventure 
that the Governor had been for months organizing 
a formidable armament against the famous Gibraltar 
of America. 

Little by little the details leaked out: how the 
Governor had conceived the plan — the success of 


MARS AND CUPID. 


207 


which was destined to astonish Europe and cover his 
administration with glory — directly after the French 
descent upon Canseau; how, egged on by Colonel 
Vaughan, Captain Gibson, Judge Auchmuty, and a 
few other bold spirits, he had sent to England for 
a co-operating fleet, the advance squadron of which 
had already arrived in the West Indies under the 
noted Commodore Warren; how, swearing the mem¬ 
bers of the General Court to secrecy, he had carried 
the measure through that reluctant body by the bare 
majority of a single vote; how he had appealed to 
the neighboring provinces for men and money, which 
had been promptly promised ; and how at last, looking 
about for a fit commander for this momentous under¬ 
taking, he had pitched upon that “mighty man of 
Kittery,” Colonel William Pepperell. 

So well the secret had been kept, that the prepa¬ 
rations were already well advanced, and the day for 
the sailing of the expedition was near at hand. Now 
that the truth was known, moreover, all further dis¬ 
guise was needless; and the transports forthwith 
swarmed into the harbor, and the levies into the 
town, which was thereby speedily filled with the din 
of final preparation. 

Frankland, like the rest, felt the stir in his blood, 
— that indefinable exaltation born of alien impulses 
angelic and brutal, the love of glory and the un¬ 
tamable animal instinct of destruction. The fever 
took strong hold of him ; all the hereditary yearnings 
of his race — the old Cromwellian strain — fired his 
heart. He lost no time in waiting upon Governor 
Shirley to tender his services. As it chanced, his 


208 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Excellency was engaged, and could not be seen $ 
whereupon he promptly despatched a note offering 
the aid of his sword and purse. 

It was in the interval of doubt and suspense while 
awaiting an answer from the Governor, that he be¬ 
thought him of Agnes. Perhaps he suddenly realized 
that of late she had been quite crowded out of her 
usual place in his thoughts by this brazen clamor of 
war. The old, old story; but if love, like laws, 
must be silent amid arms, it can yet, as the most 
potent and abiding passion, well afford to wait its 
turn, — a turn so sure to come. 

The Collector showed traces of agitation as he 
approached the Widow Ruck’s. He walked with a 
nervous and rapid step to the gate, paused, trifled 
with the latch, cast a furtive glance at the house, 
then passed on to the corner of Hanover Street. 
Presently he came back, strode directly up to the 
front door, and laid his hand upon the knocker. 
Again he hesitated, drew back, and stood with one 
steadfast and one averted foot, a picture of irresolu¬ 
tion. A straw turned the balance. Suddenly there 
was heard a quick step coming down the street. 
Starting with a half-guilty movement, the Collector 
turned, sharply sounded the knocker, and fell to 
fidgeting with his lace ruffles in affected nonchalance 
/or the benefit of the passer-by, who, however, turned 
out to be no more than an idle boy, who stared in¬ 
differently at the perturbed official as he trudged 
along. 

Mercy, as it chanced, opened the door, and at 
6 ight of him was thrown straightway into her usual 


MARS AND CUPID. 


209 


state of trepidation, which was shown mainly by the 
spasmodic, half-hysterical noise in her throat — sug¬ 
gestive of something between a laugh and a cough 
— with which she interspersed her conversation. 

“ Oh, — hur-ur! — ’t is you, sir! I am most glad, 
most — hur-ur! — to find it you — er — that is, some 
one, any one, we know; for, what with so many 
strange soldiers in the town, one scarce dares — 
hur-ur! — open the door at all. Will it please you 
walk in ? — hur-ur! — your hat you may bestow 
upon the — er — oh!” 

Deaf to her labored greeting, the preoccupied Col 
lector, as soon as she made way for him, had stalked 
past her into the keeping-room. 

Knowing nothing better to do„ Mercy timidly fol¬ 
lowed, and having by a dexterous flank movement 
placed a high-backed chair between herself and any 
critical observation, stood nervously brushing her 
apron, smoothing her sparse hair, and furtively ad¬ 
justing her tucker, as she awaited developments. 
The Collector, meanwhile, absorbed with a mental 
problem of his own, strode up and down the room, 
hat in hand, quite oblivious of her presence. 

“ You want to—to see her , I suppose ? ” ventured 
Mercy, at last, in a deprecating tone. 

The Collector stopped in his march, stared at her 
blankly a moment, then with a sudden recollection of 
himself took the fluttered spinster by the hand, and 
leading her with much ceremony to the bottom of 
the stairs, said: — 

“Do me the honor to say to Miss Agnes I would 
speak with her a few minutes I ” 

14 


210 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Coming unawares, this impressive act of courtesy 
would seem to have rendered Mercy for the moment 
a very little giddy. She mounted the stairs as if 
treading upon air, and was indeed so quite out of 
herself as to rush in upon the lodger without knock¬ 
ing, and announce in an excited whisper: — 

“ He is below, and would speak with you ! ” 

Agnes, curled up in her favorite window-seat with 
her chin in her hand, and her eyes fixed upon the 
outer view, heeded neither the intruder nor her 
remark. 

Mercy, meanwhile, had passed on to the mirror. 

“ Dear me! ” she cried in a tone of distress, as she 
surveyed herself with critical anxiety, “ if I had but 
put on my spotted lawn this morning! I had it in 
mind — this old gown, too, the very worst I have — 
What a grand way he has with him! He took me 
by the hand to the very stairs, and said, ‘ Do me the 
honor,’ said he, ‘to say to Miss Agnes I would 
speak with her ! ’ ” 

The lodger remained quite unmoved by this ani¬ 
mated account. 

“ ’T is ever my luck! ” continued the chagrined 
Mercy, occupied again with her toilet. “ To think of 
my having on this old taffeta, which would long since 
have been cast to the rag-bag but for mother — she 
— I only hope he marked not the darning of the 
sleeves! Think you he could see them?” 

Receiving no answer, the spinster’s mind was 
recalled to her errand. 

“ What! did you not hear ? He wants to see you, 
l say.” 


MARS AND CUPID. 


211 


“I shall not go down.” 

“ But he sent for you himself, — he bade me 

___ >» 

say — 

“I shall not go down.” 

“ Why, you need not fear; your gown is fine 
enough for anybody; and, ” continued the persistent 
messenger, with a critical glance at the lodger, 
“there’s not a lock of your head astray.” 

Even this kindly encouragement failed of effect. 
Mercy was puzzled. With some experience of the 
lodger’s moods, she went over to the window-seat and 
anxiously studied the averted face. It evidently did 
not prove easy reading. 

“ What shall I say ? ’T is most awkward to keep 
him waiting thus.” 

“ Say I shall not go down! ” 

“ But you — There’s nothing the matter, I hope ? ” 

“ Nothing.” 

u What pretext, then, can I offer? ” 

“ None.” 

“ Eh ? — you will never — you cannot send a word 
like that to him! No reason? ’T would be most 
unmannerly. And after all his kindness to you — ” 

The lodger violently changed her position. 

“ He — of course he would be angered, and he is 
in a most gracious vein this morning. If you could, 
but have seen him when he — ” 

“ Go away ! ” 

Shocked at this rough dismissal, Mercy went out 
and stood upon the landing, leaning over the balus¬ 
ters and cracking her fleshless finger-joints in help¬ 
less perplexity. 


212 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


The sound of the impatient Collector pacing up 
and down the keeping-room roused her at last to 
action. There was nothing to do but go down. 

“Well?” he exclaimed, striding toward her as 
^he entered the room, “she is coming?” 

“ N-no ; she — ” 

“ Not coming ? Did you tell her who was wait- 
'ing?” 

“Ye-es; I — ” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” 

It was a trying situation. The excited Collector 
stood hanging anxiously upon her words. Strength 
of mind failed, and the lips which from earliest child¬ 
hood had been trained to truth now lent themselves 
to guile. 

“ She — she — ” 

“ Eh?” 

“ She feels herself not—hur-ur—quite well. She 
— hur-ur — ” 

Stammering and blushing, the bungler would 
have betrayed herself to eyes far less keen than 
those which were now suspiciously riveted upon 
her. 

“ Did she make that excuse ? ” 

“ N-no — hur-ur — she — ” 

“ Did she send any message ? ” 

“ No; I — I besought her to — to send some pre¬ 
text, but she — ” 

“ Humph! ” 

The Collector stood for a moment biting his lips, 
and then, without a word or a salute to the humiliated 
Mercy, stalked out of the house. 


MARS AND CUPID. 


213 


An hour afterwards a note came bearing his seal. 
One of the housemaids took it up. Agnes looked 
at the superscription and dropped it unopened. 

The next day she saw it lying there upon the 
window-seat as she was going out to work in the 
garden. She took it up and again threw it down, 
but five minutes afterwards came all the way up 
from the garden to read it. 

The effect of the reading was startling. She 
sprang up with a look of consternation, put on her 
bonnet and mantle and left the house. 

Hurrying with might and main she took her way 
directly to the Province House. There, stopped by 
the sentry at the door, she explained that she was a 
friend of the Governor’s, and had come to see him on 
important business. 

Quite accustomed to mystery in the Louisbourg 
matter, the sentry let her pass without question. 
Entering the great hall, she was at a loss how to 
proceed. All was bustle and confusion. In and out 
the rooms ou the ground floor and up and down the 
quaint old staircase officers in uniform, civilians, 
ship-captains, servants in livery, were hurrying to 
and fro. 

Several of these busy people Agnes questioned as 
to how she might get speech with the Governor, but 
met with nothing but rebuff; it was plainly the 
popular impression that a woman had no business 
there. 

At last, plucking a passing lackey by the sleeve, 
Agnes slipped a fee into his willing palm, and re¬ 
peated her question. 


214 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“ He’s in yonder room, ma’am,” pointing to a 
door on the left; “ but there’s no use your trying to 
get speech with him,” answered the man, with a 
look which not even the fee still warm in his hand 
saved from a tinge of contempt. 

“ I must have speech with him.” 

“ He’s too busy now-a-days to hold parley with 
petticoats.” 

“ He’s a friend of mine.” 

“ Beg pardon, ma’am I ” said the man, with an ac¬ 
cession of respect. 

“ And I have come to see him on business. Go 
you in and say Miss Agnes Surriage is waiting with¬ 
out to have a word with him.” 

The man shook his head. Agnes took out her 
purse. 

“ No use, ma’am; no use. I would n’t go into yon¬ 
der room without orders for all ye ha’ in’t.” 

At this moment a tall, gaunt, martial figure stalked 
past, with his sword rattling about his heels. 

“ There ! ” whispered the lackey, looking after 
him in admiration, — “ there goes one dare go in, and 
without knocking, too, I warrant him; ’t is the great 
Colonel Vaughan.” 

Agnes no sooner heard this announcement than to 
the lackey’s amazement she darted after the stranger 
and walked boldly in after him as he entered the 
Governor’s room. 

Once inside, Agnes paused a minute to look 
around. It was a busy-looking scene. Several sec¬ 
retaries were hard at work at desks placed about the 
side of the room, while in the middle, at a large table, 


MARS AND CUPID. 


215 


sat his Excellency bending over an outspread map 
to which he constantly referred while talking to the 
stout man in a scarlet uniform at his side. The 
latter, Vaughan greeted with a military salute as 
Colonel Pepperell. 

As soon as Agnes perceived Governor Shirley, 
regardless of his occupation or companions, she 
stepped quickly forward and said: — 

“ May it please your Excellency, I would fain have 
a word with you.” 

The Governor looked up in astonishment at this 
bold interruption, and a frown of annoyance clouded 
his face on recognizing the intruder. 

“ Agnes ! what are you doing here, girl ? ” 

“ I come hither to see your Excellency on a matter 
of moment.” 

“I have no time to attend to you. I am busy. 
Go and see Mrs. Shirley ! ” 

“ No! ” cried Agnes, undaunted; “’t is you I must 
speak with, and I have but a word to say. Take 
heed, I pray you; let not Mr. Frankland go to the 
war! ” 

“ Hoity-toity, what now ? ” cried his Excellency, 
while a passing look of amusement relaxed the 
strained lines of his face. 

“ Ho! ho! ho! ” roared Vaughan, roughly; “ who 
is that ? The dandy young Collector, say you ? 
And are his dainty limbs, forsooth, to be laid up in 
lavender here at home, while our bones are to be 
given over to Canadian crows ? ” 

“ Ay! and the fittest use to put them to I ” re¬ 
torted Agnes, highly offended. 


216 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


44 Good! she has mettle, that wench/' said Vaughan 
aside to Pepperell, who stood gravely awaiting the 
end of the episode. 

“ He is young and over-rash, your Excellency,” 
pleaded Agnes. “ He would never come home alive 
from those bloody Frenchers. All his kin are thou¬ 
sands of miles across the sea, and his poor mother 
would die of grief if any harm befell him.” 

44 Ay, ay! your Excellency,” interposed Vaughan, 
with a fresh outburst of laughter. “ Have compas¬ 
sion on his mother, — so poor, so old, and so far 
away! ” 

Deaf to this mockery, Agnes kept her eyes anx¬ 
iously fixed upon the Governor’s face. 

44 1 have no power, my good girl,” said the latter, 
not unkindly, “ even if I would, to stay Mr. Frank- 
land from going to the war. And for the matter 
of his mother, half the young men who are going 
leave mothers behind.” 

44 But, your Excellency — ” 

“No more; I’ve no time to waste. I can do 
nothing for you; so get you gone and leave us to 
our work ! ” 

Agnes withdrew very much discomfited, and went 
home with a heavy heart, where she spent a laborious 
afternoon in writing the following answer to Frank- 
land’s note: — 

Most dear Sir, — I know not after what manner I 
ought to adress you, nor upon what patern order my be- 
havyor towards you. If hitherto you have lifted me up to a 
grate hight of happines and fortune, you have now plunged 


MARS AND CUPID . 


217 


me down into more dolefull misery. I am, indeed, in gree- 
vus case and know not which way I am to turn for counsell 
nor what I am to think nor what again’t is right and honer- 
able to do. 

I can think of no better way of proceeding than to tell 
you without lett or reserve what is in my hart. I have, as 
you are awair, small skill in writeing, and may fale to make 
you understand what I would fane say; but I pray you give 
it thought and heed. 

I shall first confess that I was much afrighted and 
grately angered at the language you lately held to me. I 
see not that even your grate bounty (of which I daly strive 
to recount the mesure) should give you the right to offer me 
such indignitty. You say you was carried away by passhun, 
and I would fane beleeve it. 

You speak of an iron law that withholds you from doing 
as you would — that is a law of man’s devise. I too have a 
law which withholds me from doing wrong,—a golden law, 
a law of God’s. Tell me now which were it better to trans- 
gres. 

I shall confess again that when you came hither yester¬ 
day to see me my hart was filled with bitternes and wrath. 
I thought all my love and grattitude to you was quite at an 
end. I now see my greevous error. 

It needed but I should read your letter for it to flame 
up again to a prodiggus hight. My anger is all melted 
away, and I am now quakeing with horrid fear. Do not, I 
beseech you, be so cruel as to leave me ! ’T is an awfull 
bisness you would go upon. There is small chanse, from 
what I hear, for anyboddy to come back. What is your 
single sord and arm in so mitety a host ? What will his 
Majesty say if you dessert your post ? Think of your mother 
and what would happen to her if aught befell you. I do 


218 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


not bid you think of me, for alas what would it avale ? But 
if you will persist to go in spite of all entreety, then I must 
needs follow after. I could not rest here with the thought 
that you was yonder and your life in perill. 

Your obedient, loving, humble servant, 

Agnes. 


CHAPTER XX. 


RINGING TRUE. 

R ECEIVING no answer to his application, Frank- 
land waited again upon the Governor, when, it 
would seem, his Excellency, either having no commis¬ 
sion to give him, or unwilling to be accessory to his 
leaving his post without consultation with the Home 
Government, found means to persuade him that to go 
off without leave, upon an expedition of duration so 
uncertain and issue so doubtful, would be held by his 
Majesty a most culpable and unpardonable neglect 
of duty. 

With heavy heart, therefore, the Collector aban¬ 
doned his purpose and stood by in silent chagrin while 
the jubilant troops with beating drum and clashing 
cymbal marched down to embark upon one of the 
most romantic crusades of modern times. 

And one fine morning away they went, — a white¬ 
winged flock of snows and frigates and transports, 
while flapping far aloft from the Commander’s vessel 
streamed the precious banner bearing Whitefield’s 
teacred motto: “Nil desperandum Christo duce.” 

The guns from the North Battery and the Sconce 
belched forth salvos of farewell, and the whole popu¬ 
lace of the town, gathered upon the shore, cheered 
themselves hoarse in benediction. 


220 


AGNES SURRIAGE- 


All this “ post-haste and romage in the land ” was 
succeeded by a dead calm. Tired Boston turned 
back with a sigh of relief to its workshops and count¬ 
ing-houses. It was like skipping in a trice from the 
thirteenth to the eighteenth century, — this coming 
back to the prosaic and commonplace from so long 
sojourn in the world of the imagination. 

With his official duties reduced to the merest rou¬ 
tine on account of the prostration of commerce, with 
all his favorite companions — the young men of spirit 
and enterprise — gone on the expedition, never had 
Puritan New England seemed such a bald, drear, 
humdrum place of abode to the dejected Collector. 
A northeast storm brought matters to a crisis. 

At the very lowest ebb-tide of cheer he went 
around that evening to see Agnes. He was shown 
unexpectedly into the room where she and the widow 
were sitting. 

“ You did not go! ” she cried, springing to her feet, 
and trembling so violently that involuntarily he put 
forth his hand to prevent her falling. 

“No,” he answered mechanically, while spots of 
color glowed in a curious way on his cheek and his 
eyes suddenly brightened. 

Meantime the widow saluted him twice without 
notice, nor did he heed a word of her explanation for 
not retiring — that it was the only room in the house 
where they could have a fire in summer. 

“ This storm,” began Agnes, making an effort to 
talk, “is — ” 

She paused; the searching look with which he re¬ 
garded her was very disconcerting. 


RINGING TRUE. 


221 


“ Eh ?” exclaimed the widow, with a methodical 
person’s natural annoyance at an unfinished sentence. 

“ ’T is bad for the fleet, I suppose.” 

“Ye-es— no — they won’t mind a little blow like 
this,” answered the Collector, half irritably, as if im* 
patient at a question so irrelevant to his thought. 

“ You have not seen the garden in a long time.” 

“ Humph! — the garden ? No-o ; very true.” 

“ Everything is much grown, and many new things 
have come up.” 

“ Er-r, yes; you can’t help it; they always do.” 

“ Those last seeds you gave me — I have forgotten 
the name.” 

“ Indeed!” 

“ You will remember, perhaps? ” 

“I? No; upon my word; not at all. Seeds?” 

Nothing, it would seem, could be more futile and 
unsatisfactory than this talk; and it is not quite clear 
why it produced such a tonic effect upon Frankland. 
But the fact remains, that having gone into the Widow 
Ruck’s with thoughts of suicide, he came forth with 
a cheerful aspect and a good appetite for his supper. 

Later in the evening, with the purpose perhaps of 
restoring his long-disturbed nervous equilibrium, he 
went off on a vague tramp in the darkness and storm, 
and coming back felt so like himself again that he 
ordered some brandy and water and went to bed 
singing. 

Next day came a budget of English letters. Out 
of a dozen he put aside two for a more attentive read¬ 
ing. Having duly despatched the less interesting; he 


222 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


settled back in his chair with the chosen two. The 
first was from Walpole. 

From the very salutation the charm of that famous 
letter-writer seized fast hold upon the reader’s atten¬ 
tion. With delighted looks and lips gradually relax¬ 
ing to a smile, his eyes danced down page after page 
of malicious gossip or witty insinuation. A muttered 
exclamation now and then and a movement in his 
seat afforded an involuntary tribute to some quip or 
thrust too good to be passed over in immobility. But 
whether it were that such a surfeit of wit palled 
upon his taste, or that he had lost his earlier zest 
for such matter, it is noteworthy that the Collector 
finished the letter with less extravagant marks of 
approval, and that indeed before he reached the 
signature the spirit had quite vanished from his 
smile, and left it but an unpleasant grimace. Tossing 
the letter upon the table, he folded his hands back of 
his head and looked long and fixedly at a spot on 
the wall. 

Presently he remembered his mother’s letter, and 
opened it. Quite different was the quiet interest 
with which he puzzled out the crossed and recrossed 
lines from the hungry look with which he had de¬ 
voured the first. When about half through, how¬ 
ever, his expression violently changed. Throwing 
down the elaborately folded sheet with a muttered 
oath, he sprang up and traversed the room with angry 
steps. 

Presently he stopped, as if with a sudden resolve. 
Catching up the two letters he folded them together 
_and sent them off with the following note: — 


RINGING TRUE. 


223 


Dearest Agnes, — Read these letters. See for youp 
Belf how like a badger I am baited. See how they pursue 
me even to the ends of the earth! Read, and tell me 
whether they are to be hearkened to or not! These are but 
two out of a multitude who would fill the air with clamor 
and leave me no peace on earth if I should dare follow the 
dictates of my own heart and order my life after my own 
fashion. 

Pity, then, I pray you, my doubt, irresolution, and weak 
ness, and have patience with your devoted 

Frankland. 

Next day the letters were returned. A deep flush 
overspread his face as he unfolded them and found 
within no comment. Crumpling the sheets, he threw 
them straightway into the fire, forgetting, perhaps, 
that he had not yet finished reading his mother’s. 

After two days’ continuous brooding over the 
matter, the suspense became intolerable, and one 
evening he seized his hat and started for Tileston 
Street. 

On the way it suddenly occurred to him as sig¬ 
nificant that on his last visit the widow had been 
present. Was her presence accidental? He had a 
vague remembrance of her making an explanation. 
Loitering to frame some pretext for getting speech 
with Agnes alone, he was joined by the Rev. Samuel 
Mather on the way to his new meeting-house from 
his home near by on Moon Street. 

“ Come, Mr. Collector,” cried that amiable but 
eccentric parson, taking his arm, “ come along with 
me to prayer-meeting, and leaven your worldliness 
with a little grace!” 


224 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“Prayer-meeting to-night,you say?” asked Frank* 
land, with sudden interest. 

“ Yes; behold me on the way thither now. Come, 
and you shall be made a special subject of supplica¬ 
tion in return for the box of lemons you sent me.” 

, “I had ample payment in the clever verses re¬ 
turned.” 

“Ah! I am proof against flattery. I know the 
rhymes were indifferent, — I am not strong in the 
poetic way, — but the receipt for punch enclosed, 
you will find infallible.” 

Stopping on the corner of Tileston Street to con. 
tinue their talk, the Collector chanced to look up, 
and a fleeting little change of expression swept over 
his face. 

The movement, however slight, did not escape his 
alert companion, who, turning to discover the cause, 
beheld the widow and Mercy close upon them, on 
their way to prayer-meeting. 

“ Good-evening, Widow! ” cried the parson, quickly, 
in a tone conscientiously cordial, at the same time 
bowing with an elaboration very near to a flourish. 

Heeding neither the words nor the salute, the 
widow passed on with an expression that would 
have done honor to Saint Stephen. 

Tipping Frankland a solemn wink, the parson 
waited until they were out of ear-shot. 

“ That worthy woman regards me with relentless 
hostility, and yet I never in word or deed did her 
the smallest injury. In ten minutes she will be pray¬ 
ing— none with greater unction — ‘forgive us our 
trespasses as we forgive,’ etc. Heigh-ho! these crea- 


RINGING TRUE . 


225 


tures made in God’s image are queer cattle. Come, 
you’d better go to the prayer-meeting; you must 
need praying for.” 

“No, thank you!” cried Frankland, seizing both 
the parson’s hands with sudden effusion. “ I did, 
yesterday; I did this morning; I did an hour ago, 
but not now: somebody has forestalled you ! ” 

Puzzled at this queer speech and this sudden fer¬ 
vor, Mather had no time to demand an explanation, 
and the friends parted. 

Shown into the keeping-room to wait for Agnes, 
Frankland sat down in the widow’s own rush-bot¬ 
tomed chair, and glancing at a book on the table, 
into which her spectacles had just been thrust as a 
book-mark, marvelled the more at her recent exhibi¬ 
tion of spirit, on reading the title: “ The Case of 
Satan’s Fiery Darts in blasphemous suggestions and 
hellish annoyances as they were considered in several 
sermons heretofore preached in the congregation in 
Brattle Street, Boston, May, 1711, by Benj: Colman, 
and now published by the Desire of Some who hav¬ 
ing suffered by such Temptations would thus (by the 
Will of God) minister to the Direction and Support 
of others in like spiritual Trouble and Distress.” 

Agnes came down without reluctance or embar¬ 
rassment, but looking very grave and pale. 

“ I do not wonder at your looks, my dear girl,” cried 
Frankland, hurrying to meet her. “ I was a coward 
to send you those letters, to let you into a struggle 
which belonged alone to me. But I am a poor crea¬ 
ture. It seemed I could never fight it out alone. 
£ was weak enough to want you to know it was no 


226 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


easy matter for me to do what seemed only a just 
and simple thing.” 

“ No, it is I who have been at fault, grievously at 
fault. I see it all now. But pray you pardon me! 
Remember, I was young. I knew nothing of this you 
call the world.” 

She paused. His face was shining with eagerness. 
He made a movement to speak, but she put up her 
hand with an appealing gesture. 

“ You have meant to confer a great blessing upon 
me,” she continued, speaking with painful repression, 
but with a voice free from any tearful note. “ I can¬ 
not talk of that. I have no words fit for such high 
matters. I hold you quit of all consequences, but I 
pray God it may not prove you have done me need¬ 
less wrong in taking me away from yonder rude life, 
to which now I must return.” 

“ ‘ Return ’! ” he cried, with a sudden burst of laugh¬ 
ter which was almost shocking in its discord. “ Yes, 
when the sun returns on his course, when the river 
rolls backward from the sea—but not until! ‘Re¬ 
turn *! ” he repeated, clasping her rapturously in 
his arms. “ Never, my darling ! Never ! Never! 
Never! ” 

Struggling to free herself, Agnes stared at him in 
bewilderment. 

“ No, no, no! ” he went on in the same ecstatic and 
incomprehensible strain ; “ the struggle is over and 
the victory mine. ’T is plain now why I was not 
suffered to go to Louisbourg, — I had a battle of my 
own to fight nearer at hand. But ’t is fought and 
won; ’t is all settled, darling. You will never be my 


RINGING TRUE . 


227 


Lady Frankland, because I shall never be Sir Charles. 
I will resign title and inheritance in favor of my 
brother, and I have influence enough at Court to 
have the act confirmed. No, you will never live 
upon hereditary estates, never be received at Court, 
never have an escutcheon, consort with the great 
world, and shine in the ranks of fashion! But what 
are title and fortune? You might tire of one and 
lose the other. But we — we shall never get tired 
of each other, eh ? — nor ever lose one another this 
side heaven; and so, if you will be content with plain 
Harry Frankland, without a penny to bless himself 
with but his beggarly official salary, here he is — 
yours to all eternity.” 

Deadly pale, Agnes stood, as it seemed, unable to 
accept words so “ wild and whirring ” in their plain 
purport. 

“ Plain Mrs. Frankland and love in a cottage seem 
not to enchant you,” said the anxious Collector, wait¬ 
ing in suspense for Agnes to speak. 

But she did not speak; she only stared at him with 
a fixed and troubled look. 

“ I am nothing, then. ’T was but the title and for¬ 
tune you cared for, after all,” he continued in a quiz¬ 
zical tone, in which, however, there was a trace of 
pique. “ Come, you shall speak ; if you feel no joy 
yourself, you shall at least sympathize with mine.” 

Shaking her head in a dazed way, Agnes still re¬ 
mained silent. 

“ Speak, I say! Speak! ” he cried, growing im¬ 
patient. 

“ It cannot be! ” she said hoarsely. 


228 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


44 Silly girl, it is! All is done. You have nothing 
to do but nod your head.” 

“ It cannot be ! ” 

“ What would you have ? I give up all the world 
for you. I offer you my hand, my heart, and my 
■honorable name; and have you nothing to say?” 

“Yes.” 

44 Ah, rogue! So you have been tormenting me?” 

44 1 have to say — ” 

44 Go on!” 

“ That I will never accept them ! ” 

These words were pronounced in a voice scarcely 
above a whisper, but with a significant expression. 

Frankland, realizing the purpose in her resolute 
face, grew suddenly anxious. 

44 Agnes, Agnes, what are you saying ? ” 

“Let me go! I cannot talk; I must go away by 
myself! ” she cried, as if stifling. 

“No!” he cried, blazing up passionately; “you 
shall not go. You are mine! You shall not escape 
me! You shall not trifle with me ! I will hear no 
more such folly! I have done all that man can do to 
content you. Come to me on what terms you will, 
but come you must! Oh, Agnes,” he concluded with 
a melting touch of pathos, “ can it be that you do not 
love me, girl ? ” 

He was holding her tightly pressed in his arms. 
She turned suddenly and kissed him upon the fore¬ 
head, then bursting from his hold ran sobbing from 
the room. 


CHAPTER XXL 


RUNNING TO COVER. 

44 TV/T ERCY,” said the widow next morning, after 

IVJ. the lodger had left the breakfast-table, 

“ you’d better see what’s the matter ! ” 

The widow sat at the tray washing her preoious 
breakfast-china, which she never suffered to go into 
the kitchen. Mercy looked up in surprise. Her 
mother had behaved unusually. 

“ You noted it, then ? ” 

The widow slowly closed her large bilious-looking 
eyes, with the effect of nodding, — a habit which 
perhaps she had acquired at meeting in acquiescing 
with silent unction to strong points in the sermon. 

“ She did not eat a morsel,” continued Mercy, 
moving into more confidential proximity. 

The widow went on wiping her dishes with an air 
not at all encouraging to further conversation. 

“ Nor sleep a wink either, but walked the floor all 
night over my head. What wonder she looks like a 
ghost! ” 

The widow closed her eyes again and carefully set 
down a cup which she had wiped to a glittering polish 
inside and out. 

“ And I know what it means,” continued Mercy, 
unconsciously cracking her finger-joints in her increas* 


230 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ing agitation ; “ he was here last night while we were 
gone to meeting. I found one of his queer-lookin’ 
gloves on the floor this mornin’.” 

She paused to note the effect of this impressive 
announcement. 

j “ Stop that! ” said the widow, in a long-suffering 
tone. 

Mercy looked disconcerted, but understood at once 
and desisted her knuckle exercise. 

“If she’s ill,” said the widow, pushing the tray of 
clean dishes towards Mercy to put away, and bring¬ 
ing the conversation back to the starting-point, “I 
will see what can be done. If it ’s anything else,” 
she added, drawing down her spectacles from her 
forehead to the bridge of her nose and casting 
a significant glance at her daughter, “don’t you 
intermeddle! ” 

Thus instructed, Mercy followed to the garden 
on her diplomatic errand. She found the lodger 
walking abstractedly up and down among her flower¬ 
beds. 

“ Deary me! how the rain has started the weeds I ” 
she began. 

No notice was taken of the remark. 

“’Tis just as Mr. Gee said last night at meetin’: 
weeds and tares are like sins in the heart, ever ready 
to spring up when one is not on the watch.” 

The lodger, who had instinctively turned to move 
away, stopped in a listening attitude. Mercy slyly 
took advantage of the opportunity to come nearer. 

“ But the storm is n’t over yet,” she went on, “you 
may see by the wind. My father used to say — and 


RUNNING TO COVER. 


231 


he followed the sea — there’s no chance of a clearing 
when the wind backs round. Mother never heeds 
the wind; she goes by the goose-bone.” 

The lodger moved on. 

“What has happened to this lily?” clutching hap^ 
hazard at any subject. “ It looks blighted ; ’t is a 
great pity; the lily is a beautiful flower. Do you think 
it prudent to stay out here in the damp air without 
your hood? See, ’t is beginning to rain already! ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Oh! — and you have so many beautiful roses too! 
This white one is my favorite. I have heard say 
yours is the finest collection in town. You are look¬ 
ing pale this morning; do you — ” 

“ Get you gone and leave me in peace! ” 

“Ye-es, surely — of course — ” cried the discom¬ 
fited Mercy, sniffing violently. “I — I but wanted 
— mother said if there was anything we might do — 
but never mind! ” 

She turned and started toward the house, but 
directty felt herself seized from behind. 

“Pardon — stop! Pardon me! You meant it in 
kindness. I thought not on what I was saying. I 
thank you for your good intent. You can do nothing 
for me ; there’s nothing to be done ; there’s nothing 
ails me. ’T is only that I want not to be plagued 
with talk, — I want to be alone.” 

With this tumultuous speech she rushed off to the 
house and up to her own room. Pausing only to put 
on her hood and cloak, she hurried down and left the 
house while Mercy was still in the act of giving the 
widow an account of the interview. 


232 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Proceeding swiftly across town as if with a defined 
purpose, she set out on the road to Roxbury. There 
was no wind, and the soft summer rain fell in crys¬ 
tal plumb-lines from the clouds. Half-way across the 
Neck she came to a sudden standstill. Rolling leis¬ 
urely toward her, attended by a mounted servant,' 
came a chaise. In it sat Mrs. Shirley. 

With a half-shocked look at this sudden appearance 
of the person she was going to see, Agnes stood for a 
moment in the midst of the road. Directly regaining 
self-control, she stepped out of the beaten track into 
a bed of brambles by the wayside, and facing about 
threw back her hood as if to secure recognition. 

The movement was successful; in a moment the 
chaise drew up before her. 

“Agnes! — why, how now, child? What are you 
doing here ? ” exclaimed the astonished occupant, as 
her keen eye with one sweeping glance took in the 
details of the figure before her, — the distraught look, 
the pallid face, the disordered hair, the hanging hood 
and dripping cloak. 

“ I was coming — I — I had it in mind to — ” 
“Surely you must be taking leave of your wits, 
my dear,” interposed the elder lady, with the clever 
matron’s readiness to lavish advice. “ You are getting 
into very strange ways, I fear. What’s this, I hear, 
of your forcing your way in upon his Excellency in 
the rush of business, before the expedition sailed, and 
begging, forsooth, that Mr. Frankland should not be 
suffered to go to the war ? ” 

Agnes put up her hand with a little pleading 
movement, as if for attention; but her mentor was 


RUNNING TO COVER. 


233 


not to be cheated of the luxury of performing an 
agreeable duty. 

“ I assure you, my dear, upon my word, I never 
heard of such a prank, — a young girl like you inter¬ 
ceding for a gentleman of his rank! ” 

Something in the looks or intonation of the speaker 
must have given unusual point to her words, for the 
listener started as if stung; and the expression of 
pain and dismay which swept like a cloud over her 
face was quickly succeeded by one of pride, which 
compressed her bloodless lips and hardened the lines 
around her mouth. 

But clever, high-minded, worldly-wise Mrs. Shirley 
could not be expected to take note of every little trick 
of a foolish girl’s face; she was intent upon doing 
her duty, — a plain, bounden duty, in the performance 
of which she will be upheld by every well-regulated 
matron in the land. Without too much regarding 
the effect of her words, then, she went on: — 

Ci Have a care, my dear, have a care! Take guid¬ 
ance in such matters, or you will make yourself the 
laughing-stock of the town.” 

The listener stood like a statue, and had not the 
grace to utter a word of thanks for all this precious 
counsel. 

“ But what are you doing, tell me, so far from 
home ? Come, get in here with me out of the rain ! ” 
continued the considerate matron, making room on 
the seat beside her. 

“ Many thanks, madam, but I mind not the storm,” 
returned Agnes, coldly. 

“ Not you, I dare swear, until you have had an 


234 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ague. But come, I say; I will set you down at your 
own door! ” 

Agnes shook her head with an obstinate air, and 
Mrs. Shirley gave a sign to the driver. 

“ Good-by, then; I can waste no more time upon 
you! Remember what I have said, and come and 
see me more often, that I may school you to better 
manners.” 

The chaise started on, but scarcely had the wheels 
made a dozen revolutions when it stopped again. 
The motherly woman within was haunted by a sup¬ 
pressed movement of relenting, a covert appeal, in 
the big black eyes that had just been gazing so in¬ 
tently into her face. She looked back and spoke : 

“ Did you want to say anything to me, my child? ” 

Agnes hesitated ; confidence is ashy bird, and once 
driven to the hedge comes not back at bidding. It 
was as well perhaps that neither of them could fore¬ 
see the life-long consequences hanging upon the 
answer to that question. It was but a moment. A 
shake of the head, and the chaise drove on. 

With a sigh, sudden and deep-drawn, as if reliev¬ 
ing heart and nerves from violent tension, Agnes 
gazed after it, grateful then and grateful through all 
the after years for those parting words of kindness 
from one upon whose living face she was never to 
look again. 

Back and forth over a barren stretch of a dozen 
yards in the road she walked for a long time after 
the chaise disappeared. The rain, meantime, had 
ceased and the rising wind rolled up the clouds into 
heavy masses which slowly floated off to sea. 


RUNNING TO COVER . 


235 


The impulse, whatever it was, which at last started 
Agnes homeward, seemed to gather force and inten¬ 
sity as she went; for having reached the thickly settled 
quarter of the town, she bent her steps with almost 
feverish haste to the Town Dock. Here searching 
out a boatman she demanded impatiently to be taken 
to Cambridge. 

What with sailing much of the time in the eye of 
the wind and with the current strong against them, 
it proved, however, rather a tedious passage. Agnes, 
although well-skilled in the management of all kinds 
of craft and seeing for herself the difficulties of the 
way, sat in the stern chafing at the delay, and giving 
every now and then sharp directions for the manage¬ 
ment of the ketch which the astonished skipper 
instinctively obeyed. 

Having at last reached their landing, Agnes lost 
no time in making her way to President Holyoke’s 
house. There she was told that the worshipful presi¬ 
dent was over at the College. She set forth at once 
to seek him out, but had not proceeded far when she 
saw some one approaching. Despite the increase in 
years and infirmity, she recognized at once the vener¬ 
able figure of her old pastor of Marblehead. 

She stopped, and stood awaiting his approach. He 
walked slowly and as if rapt in thought. With pain¬ 
ful anxiety she studied the details of a face which 
every step brought nearer. Authority and seclusion 
had wrought their due effect. In those pale, set 
features, in those severe intellectual eyes, there was 
no invitation to confidence. With sinking heart she 
drew aside and stood meekly awaiting recognition. 


286 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


In a moment more he was abreast of her. Holding 
her breath in suspense, she fixed upon him a wild, 
beseeching glance. 

Recognizing the fact of a person in the highway, 
and it may be with the more complex impression of 
a female, the reverend dignitary vouchsafed a stiff 
bow of formal courtesy, and with the introverted, un¬ 
distinguishing eye of age passed on his way. 

Making a vague movement as if to detain him, 
Agnes sank upon the wet ground with a groan of 
despair. There she lay until aroused by a passing 
wayfarer. Irritated by the man’s suspicious ques¬ 
tions, she repelled all offers of assistance and alone 
made her way back to the ketch. 

It was just before nightfall when she arrived in 
town. Although nearly exhausted by fatigue and 
hunger, she yet shrank from going home, and turning 
as if by natural instinct to the sea, wandered down 
along the docks. Here all was familiar ; a thousand 
associations of childhood, rude scenes, rough words, 
unsavory odors, hallowed by memory, came like voices 
from home to comfort and tranquillize her. 

Strolling out upon one of the larger wharves, she 
stood leaning upon a pier listening to the swashing 
of the water as it broke among the piles and dashed 
up with a thump against the floor beneath her feet. 
The last glow of sunset was fading from the sky. 
Deepening shadows crept in and out among the 
crowded docks and around about the scattered fleet 
of shipping, as it were the advance of an unknown 
enemy occupying with mysterious force every coigne 
of vantage. 


RUNNING TO COVER. 


237 


Suddenly Agnes started from her place in violent 
agitation and uttered a cry. From the dark prow of 
a neighboring vessel lifted out of the black mass of 
shadow by an incoming wave there had gleamed 
dimly through the lingering light the magic words: 
44 The Pathfinder.” i 

With eager steps she made her way around to the 
vessel’s side, crying as she hurried down the dock and 
peered over among the men who were idling upon 
deck: — 

44 Job — Job — are you there ? ” 

A chorus of answers came from the quizzical crew. 
44 Sail —ho!” 

44 Ship ahoy there, petticoat! ” 

44 Job — is he there among ye ? ” 

44 Oh, never mind him ; he’s forgotten ye I M 
44 He’s got another one now.” 

44 He has ’em in every port.” 

44 Come and see us, beauty! ” 

44 Give us a kiss, and we ’ll tell ye, sweetheart! ” 

44 Have done with your gibing. Shame upon you* 
that cannot give a civil answer to a lady ! Keep your 
jests for them that like them, and tell me now if you 
have a shipmate called Job.” 

The rich contralto voice and the tone of dignity 
had an instant effect. 

44 Redden, ye mean, mum ? ” 

44 Yes.” 

44 He’s ashore on leave.” 

44 Where can he be found ? Does any one know ? 
Speak ! ” The questions came with uncontrollable 
impatience. 


238 


AGNES SURRIAGE, 


“ Ye might try the Plav’rers, mum . 4 

“ The what ? ” 

“The Two Plav’rers; don’t ye know the Two 
Plav’rers? Ye ’re a stranger, sure, not to know the 
Plav’rers — ” 

“ Yes, yes. I know it now, — the old inn. There’s 
for ye! ” and flinging a handful of small coins from 
her purse she disappeared in the darkness. 

The quaint old hostelry, known variously as the 
“Salutation” tavern, and the “Two Palaverers,” 
from the two nondescript figures painted on its sign¬ 
board who were popularly supposed to represent two 
gossips in the act of greeting, was situated on Salu¬ 
tation Alley, and was a favorite and popular resort 
for the humbler classes. 

It was already lighted and thronged when Agnes 
arrived, although so early in the evening. Uncon¬ 
scious of the looks of wonder and admiration which 
followed her, Agnes made her way through a group 
of idlers at the doorway, and so on into the tap-room, 
which was filled with a motley assembly of sailors 
and mechanics. 

Standing in the doorway and scanning the room 
with an anxious look, Agnes almost immediately 
found the object of her search. Controlling herself 
with evident effort, she went quietly up to a table 
where three sailors were drinking, and touching the 
arm of one who was seated with his back toward the 
door, she whispered in her old Marblehead dialect, — 

“ Job, I want ye. Come wi’ me, mon! ” 

The sailor started to his feet as though thrilled by 
an elecrric shock. 



SALUTATION ALLEY, MARBLEHEAD 














RUNNING TO COVER . 


239 


“ Eh — her-rt ’n’ soul! — be’t ye, Ag ? ” he stam¬ 
mered. “ Sumthin’ the motter-r wi’ ye ? ” 

“ Ay!” 

He stopped for no more, but went out with her 
directly. By a cautioning movement she restrained 
him from speaking until they were beyond ear-shot. 

“ Wha’ be’t ? Out wi’ ’t! ” he cried hoarsely. 

Oi know’d’t wor-r cornin’. Oi ha’ been expectin’ 
t. Out wi’ ’t, oi soy ! ” 

“ Job ! Job! ” she cried, holding fast on to him 
with trembling hands, “ ’f ye ever-r loved me, mon, 
take me home to my mother-r! ” 

Throwing herself into his arms, she gave way to 
long-pent emotion in a violent fit of sobbing. 

“ Ay, ay ! Thet oi will. Sh-h ! — ther’, now ! 
don’t tak’ on so ! Oi ha’ ye safe. Nothin’ sha’ 
hor-rm ye! Ther’, now, oi soy, ha’ done! Hor-rken! 
hor-rken,now, to me a bit!” whispered Job, as the 
sobbing grew less violent. “ ’F ther’s ony need, 
we *11 quit this out o’ hond, ’f we ha’ to go afoot; 
but ’f ther’s no haste, we ’ll foind some place near by 
the wa-ar-rf yonder-r, wher’ ye can stay th’ noight; 
an’ agin daybreak oi ’ll ha’ the boat ready.” 

“ No, no,” sobbed Agnes; “ ther’s no such gret 
haste. Oi ’ll stay th’ noight wher’ oi am.” 

“ Wher’ ye be ! ” 

“ Yonder, wher’ oi ha’ lived ever-r sin’ oi cam’ 
hither-r. They know nothin’ ther’ o’ th’ motter-r’s 
drivin’ me away, an’ ’ll gi’ me good treatment. Ye 
shall take me back thither-r, ’n’ oi ’ll wait yer-r 
cornin’ i’ th’ mornin’! ” 

Clinging tenderly to the arm of her old companion. 


240 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


as though she had left him but yesterday, Agnes led 
the way back to the widow’s house. 

“Job, Job!” she cried, with a little shudder of 
misgiving as they stood at the gate, “ you will not 
fail me ? ” 

“No more ’n oi ha’ ever-r failed ye afore.** 


CHAPTER XXII. 


A SIDE ISSUE. 



l HAT evening Mercy was greatly surprised at 


JL her mother’s sudden determination not to go 
to the “ praise-meeting.” There was good ground 
for surprise; for the widow had never before been 
known to stay away from a religious meeting except 
in case of necessity. Here, not only was there no 
apparent cause for absence, but she vouchsafed no 
explanation. 

“ I hope nothing’s the matter ? ” ventured Mercy, 
with a look of kindling curiosity. 

“ Nothing! ” 

“ Oh ! ” 

“ Glory will go with you,” said the widow, refer¬ 
ring to Gloriana the cook, and quietly ignoring the 
sensation she had created. “ See that she has a seat 
where she may hear, for the occasion will be of bene¬ 
fit to her.” 

Mercy asked no more questions. She never re¬ 
sorted to cross-examination with her mother. There, 
experience had evidently taught her to await the 
slow movement of a subtler process. Meantime it 
may be doubted whether she went to the service in a 
frame of mind fitted to profit by religious teaching. 

Directly the widow heard the garden-gate click 
behind them, a change took place in her manner. 


16 


242 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


She walked about the room needlessly adjusting the 
furniture, closed the wooden shutters, kindled a fire 
upon the hearth, put a lighted candle upon the hall 
table, taking a stealthy look at herself in the antique 
mirror as she passed. 

Coming back to the keeping-room, she settled 
down in a rush-bottomed chair with her last new pam¬ 
phlet, entitled “ Meditations representing a Glimpse 
of Glory; or, a Gospel Discovery of Immanuel’s 
Land.” 

Upon this occasion, however, she seems to have 
been satisfied by a very fleeting glimpse of glory; 
for she laid aside the book after a few pages, and 
took her knitting. 

It was while she was in the act of shifting her 
needles after the very first round, that Elder Haw¬ 
kins was ushered into the room. 

Receiving his visit as a matter of course, the widow 
rose, courtesied, and placed a chair. He sank into it 
with a dry little cough, which seemed to be scraped 
up somewhere in his mouth as a conversational stop¬ 
gap, and which, indeed, for a mere inarticulate sound, 
proved to be susceptible of astonishing variety of 
expression. 

“I am happy, Sister Ruck,” he began with a side¬ 
way glance at the widow, “ at finding you at home — 
and alone.” 

“ I could not do less than remain at home after the 
message with which I was honored — ” 

The Elder interjected an embarrassed cough. 

“And you chance to find me alone because of 
Mercy’s going to the praise-meeting.” 


A SIDE ISSUE. 


243 


44 Ye-es — er — the meeting, it slipped my mind, or 
I should have craved the present privilege for some 
other evening.” 

44 ’Tis not so late,” said the widow dryly, glancing 
at the tall clock in the corner, 44 but that you may yet 
be there by the time they begin.” 

“ Oh, no, not — er — now, of course. I was only in 
fear lest perhaps the absence of both of us upon such 
an occasion might be remarked.” 

44 And what if it be ? ” 

44 Mm-m? ” 

44 What if it be, I say?” 

44 Why — er — nothing ; no harm, no actual wrong; 
but — but yet,” — he sandwiched in a little official 
cough used with great effect upon erring brethren,— 
44 1 think it always better not to give occasion for 
censure.” 

44 1 hope never to see the time,” returned the widow 
with the fortified air of one intrenched behind all the 
beatitudes, 44 when the fear of censure will restrain me 
from doing aught my judgment approves.” 

The Elder, whether from habit or defective hearing, 
resorted again to his interrogative hum. 

44 Such idle censure has no terrors for me,” re¬ 
peated the widow in precisely her former tone, 
thereby implying some scepticism as to her visitor’s 
infirmity. 

44 Were you — er—to — to read what Ames says of 
Callings,” urged the Elder, tugging confusedly at one 
of his pockets, 44 or the advice given touching the bear¬ 
ing of Elders and others in authority, by the late 
Dr. Smithers — ” 


244 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“ I have no need, that I know of, to read what any¬ 
body says on that topic; the guidance of Holy Writ—” 
“ Ye-es, yes, to be sure, when it comes to that, if 
one could always find the precise point covered — 
Let me —I — er — crave pardon ’t is nothing more 
worthy acceptance — ” j 

The Elder interrupted himself to offer a couple of 
large oranges which he had with great difficulty 
extracted from a rather small pocket. 

“ Most obliged, I am sure. You are kind to think 
of me; they look very choice,’’ said the widow, without 
effusiveness ; accepting the fruit in a matter-of-course 
way and placing it on the table. 

The Elder, with a suppressed sigh of relief at hav¬ 
ing accomplished a necessary preliminary, rubbed his 
withered hands and held them toward the hearth, 
not as suffering from cold, but in mechanical recog¬ 
nition of the fire. 

The widow evidently felt the ensuing silence a 
little awkward, for she threw in as a palpable make¬ 
shift the remark, — 

“ There seems good prospect of clear weather 
to-morrow.” 

The Elder did not hear, or hearing did not heed. 
Nursing his thin legs and nervously writhing on 
his chair, he was in travail with his purpose, and 
presently broke, forth : — 

“My—er—• intent, Sister Ruck, in waiting upon 
you this evening, is — er—to renew the topic broached 
upon the occasion of my last visit and — ” 

He paused and waited while the widow with great 
deliberation took up a fallen stitch. 


A SIDE ISSUE. 


245 


“And — er — to bring it to some satisfactory 
conclusion.” 

As if to give opportunity for any possible objection, 
the Elder here took time for a series of coughs of no 
particular character. 

“ On many points, and those, as I — er — under¬ 
stand, of greatest import, we are already agreed — ” 

Fearing perhaps that silence might involve undue 
concession, and with the evident intent of keeping the 
conversation within easy control, the widow interposed. 

“ I doubt if it be safe to take so much for granted.” 
“Mm-m?” 

“ ’T were best in so grave a matter not to jump at 
conclusions.” 

“ Why — er — I — assuredly I am justified in 
thinking that on personal grounds there are — er — 
no objections — ” 

The widow began to clear her throat with an omi¬ 
nous sound, and he stopped. 

“ I know not what warrant I have ever given for 
such a surmise,” she said dryly. 

The Elder coughed toilfully through the whole 
gamut of doubt and deprecation before nerving him¬ 
self to reply: — 

“ ’Tis not so much what you have said as what 
you have not . Actions in — in — er — such business 
speak louder than words.” 

“ And what action, pray you, of mine — ” 

“None — er—nothing; I meant not—er—every¬ 
thing has been most proper and discreet— ” 

The widow sat back in her chair with the tight¬ 
ened reins of conversation once more well in hand. 


246 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“ Bat,” pursued the Elder, carefully noting the 
effect of every word, “have you not received my 
visits now for — er — several years — ” 

“ And if I have ? ” 

“I may fairly be justified, ’twould seem, in sup¬ 
posing you have — er — some small esteem for me.” 

“ It is not to be denied.” 

“ Am I, then, left to infer that there are, notwith¬ 
standing,” — the Elder here indulged in quite a spasm 
of coughing, — “ er — personal objections — er — ” 

“ As I remember,” answered the widow, collected¬ 
ly, “ I have not committed myself upon that point.” 

“ It would be a great step forward if I could know 
upon what ground these objections — ” 

It will be noted that the Elder had a timid way ot 
leaving significant sentences unfinished, and that his 
ellipses had generally an interrogative value. The 
widow did not shrink from the climax toward which 
the discussion had been steadily drifting. 

“ There is the matter of your health,” she said 
quietly. 

The Elder looked at once relieved and irritated. 

“Oh—humph!” he began hastily, and then with 
second-thought prudence paused to study the form 
of his answer. “Well, we are neither of us — crav¬ 
ing your pardon—any longer in the first vigor of 
youth, I suppose ; but for general health and activ¬ 
ity,” — he straightened himself unconsciously in his 
chair, — “I am — er — as well off, I trust, as moot 
men turned sixty.” 

“ There was your attack of rheumatism last autumn, ,r 
said the widow, with her former directness. 


A SIDE ISSUE. 


247 


l< Gone — all gone! ” he replied, kicking his legs 
out one after the other as if in proof. 

“ And your asthma— ” 

“ Better; have n’t been so free of it for years as 
I am this minute.” 

The widow knit several rounds in silence, and the 
Elder began to look encouraged; the event showed 
that he was premature. 

“ In so grave a matter as this in hand, Brother 
Hawkins,” she resumed presently, loosening the ten¬ 
sion of the yarn from the feeding-ball in her pocket, 
and showing for the first time a little touch of con¬ 
straint in her manner, “ it is as well to be outspoken.” 

“ Assuredly,” he answered, with a look of suspense. 

“ It is not unfit, then, that I should mention certain 
domestic habits which, though they concern me now 
not at all, might, in the closer relationship you have 
done me the honor to propose, prove highly objection¬ 
able.” 

The air of calm invulnerability to counter-attack 
with which this was said, for a moment nettled the 
hearer. 

“Our Heavenly Father hath made us all of the 
dust of the earth, unto which in a brief time we must 
return,” he began with an overdone air of humility. 
“ We are born in sin and with an inheritance of trans¬ 
gression. I am but a poor toiler in the vineyard, who, 
though I had but one talent intrusted to me, have yet 
sought to put it at usury. I have humbly tried, after 
my poor fashion, to walk in the footsteps of our Lord 
and Master; and though I have achieved so little, I 
yet hope He at least out of His abundant mercy will 


248 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


pardon my shortcomings, and accept me with all the 
sum of my imperfections — many though they be — 
upon my head.” 

No little taken aback by this dexterous rebuke, the 
widow rubbed her nose with a look of discomfiture, 
and hesitated. 

“ These charges you have to make —” prompted 
the Elder. 

“ I have been told you use tobacco,” she said, red 
dening slightly. 

“ It is true,” he answered, with a cough of self-jus¬ 
tification, “ I occasionally smoke a pipe.” 

“ There has never been any smoking in my house ; 
it seems to me an abominable and filthy habit.” 

“ I have found it a great solace in trouble or per¬ 
plexity ; but,” continued the Elder, meekly, “ I trust 
I am not so wedded to that or any other weakness of 
the flesh but that with Divine aid I may overcome 
it.” 

In her woman’s ignorance of the cost of the pur¬ 
posed sacrifice, the widow received this promise of 
reform with an indifference almost brutal. 

“I pray you go on and finish the story of my short¬ 
comings.” 

“ It is said,” pursued the widow, nothing daunted 
by the touch of irony in the last suggestion, “ that 
you are most remiss in the matter of your meals.” 

The Elder looked puzzled. 

“ This, I am aware, is not to be ranked in impor¬ 
tance with moral defects, but there is no more griev¬ 
ous drawback to the comfort and peace of a house¬ 
hold.” 


A SIDE ISSUE. 


249 


Quite at a loss what to say to so novel a charge, the 
Elder coughed with indefinable expression. 

“ There is only one time to eat a meal,” pursued 
the widow with the absolutism of the model house¬ 
wife, “ and that is, when it is ready. I could never 
abide that a person should come dawdling to my table 
a half-hour behind time.” 

“ This trait,” said the Elder, a little bewildered at 
the emphasis bestowed upon the matter, “ has never 
before, I think, been presented to my notice in the 
light of a misdemeanor. Perhaps,” he added, with a 
flickering attempt at a smile, “the habit might be 
trusted to correct itself with such company at the 
board.” 

The widow received this feeble attempt at playful¬ 
ness with grave disapproval. “ The matter,” she said, 
“ is of importance enough in my eyes to be made the 
subject of a distinct promise.” 

“ As you will,” sighed the Elder, resignedly; “ I 
will pledge myself to endeavor to meet your approval 
in that regard.” 

There followed a pause, during which the widow 
played out yarn from her pocket and the Elder sat 
nursing his legs in strained suspense. 

“ Pray you go on,” he said at last in a tone 
suggestive of moral constraint. “What other and 
more heinous fault is reserved to close the cata¬ 
logue ? ” 

“ I think of nothing else,” said the widow, after a 
whole minute of thoughtful silence. 

“‘Nothing’!” echoed the Elder with an irrepressi¬ 
ble sigh of relief. “ Why, then the way would seem to 


250 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


be clearing, and I am gladdened with the thought 
that I may go forth to-night with your promise.” 

He drew up his chair in a little flustered way, and 
seized in his own the hands of the widow, who, with 
a conscious look and heightened color, suffered the 
endearment. In this attitude they were disturbed by 
the sound of a heavy footstep in the hall. The widow 
released herself and stepped promptly to the door. 

A glance reassured her. It was only the Collector, 
whom one of the housemaids was ushering into the 
room across the hall. The light fell full upon his 
snowy tie-wig and puce-colored coat as he passed 
the candle. His back being turned, their eyes did 
not meet, and there was no occasion for greeting. 
The widow, therefore, carefully shut the door and 
went back to the Elder. 

“ Having settled so happily the personal objections,” 
began the latter with a vague effort to resume their 
former posture, which was ignored by the widow, “ it 
would seem there could be no further difficulty.” 

As this sanguine proposition was received in utter 
silence, his forehead slowly settled back into the old 
creases of anxiety. 

“Surely there can be no doubt but that in a 
worldly way the interests of both would be furthered 
by our union ? ” he resumed, prudently finishing the 
sentence with an interrogative inflection. 

“ I am not prepared to say that it has yet become 
so clear to me,” was the conservative answer. 

“ I should offer no objection to your reserving to 
your own use the whole income of your personal 
estate.” 


A SIDE ISSUE. 


251 


The widow did not look impressed with this con¬ 
cession. 

“ Although it is unusual — ” the Elder was begin¬ 
ning again, when the widow, with a little air of im¬ 
patience, interposed: — 

“ The small sum of my worldly goods must needs 
be settled upon me wholly and unconditionally before 
I advance a step in the business.” 

“ Ahem ! ” exclaimed the Elder, with a cough of dis¬ 
may; “it is an unheard-of thing.” 

“ As you will; there is no constraint upon us to go 
on in the matter.” 

“But,” urged the Elder, ignoring the alternative 
suggested, “ have you reflected I shall be responsible 
for your debts ? ” 

The widow smiled grimly. “ You are not like to 
be crushed under the burden.” 

“ And — er — liable for your support ? ” 

“With my own means in hand I can supply my 
own necessities.” 

“ You will not be bound in law to do so.” 

“Neither, I trust, do I need binding to do my 
duty.” 

“ The law has, however, been established for a wise 
purpose, that the husband, being the head of the house 
• and responsible for all taxes, debts, and burdens, 
>should have control of the necessary means.” 

“ Keep control of what is yours, with all my heart, 
but expect not ever to gain control of mine! ” 

“ Yet, has it occurred to you that the law endows 
you with a third part of my estate on the day we are 
.married ? ” 


252 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“An advantage which I will cheerfully forego,’ 1 
interrupted the widow with a promptness which sug¬ 
gested that the sacrifice demanded of her would not 
be immense. 

“ Are you well advised in what you are saying ? ” 

“If I be not, I can but take the consequences.” 

The Elder rose, and walked up and down with a 
discomfited air. 

“ There is yet one point,” he said hesitatingly, “upon 
which I would we might come to some agreement.” 

His hostess, silently knitting, did not help him out 
by a word or look of interest. 

“ There is your pasture at Muddy River — ” 

A sudden little gleam of intelligence lurked for a 
moment about the widow’s eyes but was promptly 
repressed. 

“ It adjoins mine, as you remember, and being so far 
from the rest of your land, it can be of no great value 
to your estate — ” 

“ On the contrary,” broke in the widow, promptly, 
“I have had divers offers for it, and consider it a 
valuable tract. I cannot say, however, if so be you 
feel disposed to yield a point in return, but that I 
might be prevailed upon.” 

“ Why,” remarked the Elder, warily, “ any reason¬ 
able point which lay lawfully in my power and was 
no more than a fair equivalent—” 

“ ’T is a small matter, and perhaps j'ou already have 
it in contemplation as a necessary part of your estab¬ 
lishment, — I mean the keeping a carriage.” 

The Elder was overtaken with such a vigorous 
attack of coughing that he could not at once answer. 


A SIDE ISSUE 


253 


“ I am called to do much in the service of the con¬ 
gregation,” pursued the widow, “ and that oftentimes 
when the roads are in bad condition; and you also 
would find it of great convenience in going to neigh¬ 
boring towns.” 

“’Tis a grievous expense — setting up a carriage,” 
said the Elder, shaking his head doubtfully ; “ and 
there is constant risk involved. In my humble judg¬ 
ment, hiring horses at need is by far the better way 
for folks in our condition.” 

The widow pursued the subject no further; 
whereat the Elder became very uncomfortable, and 
after exhausting all the arguments in favor of his 
own view, he suddenly asked,— 

“ Is your mind then so stubbornly fixed upon this 
extravagance ? ” 

“ If there be any question of stubbornness, it must 
lie with you,” said the widow, calmly. “ The car¬ 
riage is demanded in return for the land; if you do 
not insist upon the land, there need be no further 
talk of a carriage.” 

The Elder sat for some time in silence, fitting 
the finger-tips of his right hand against those of 
the left, and looking over the bony pyramid into the 
fire. 

“ Although there is much doubt in my mind if 
these be fair and just equivalents,” he said at last, 
mildly, “yet, as I would have the business despatched 
to-night, I yield the point of the carriage in exchange 
for the land.” 

“ Let it be so stipulated in the settlement! ” said 
the widow, cautiously. 


254 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“It shall. And now is there any other matter 
upon which we are not agreed ? ” 

“It is understood,” said the widow, “that I am 
never to be asked to move from this house, and that 
,Mercy is always to have a home with me ? ” 

“ That is already settled.” 

“ I know of nothing else.” 

“ Then are we agreed ? ” 

“ I see nothing against it.” 

“ Let us pray! ” cried the Elder, rising with an 
air of precipitation and extending his hand to the 
widow. 

Scarcely had the prayer ended, when the door was 
suddenly thrown open and Agnes appeared on the 
threshold. She was dressed in a long gray cloak and 
a red hood, which falling back from her head showed 
her face ashen pale and her eyes shining with fever¬ 
ish brilliancy. She came forward holding out a piece 
of paper. 

“If a man — if somebody comes to ask for me 
while I am out, give him this ! ” 

Too deeply absorbed with the crisis in her own 
affairs to remark the disturbance in the lodger’s look, 
the widow mechanically thrust the paper in her 
pocket and thought no more of the matter. 

Next morning she was told that a rough-looking 
man was asking for Agnes at the door, and was 
presently startled by the further announcement that 
the lodger was not in her room, had not slept in her 
bed, and could not be found. She hurried instantly 
to the door with the note in her hand. 

“Is this for you?” she asked, extending the paper. 


A SIDE ISSUE . 


255 


“ Oi’m thinkin’ not! ” 

“ Is your name Redden ? ” 

“ Ay, is it.” 

“Did you expect a message from Agnes — from 
Miss Surriage ? ” 

“ No; oi wor n’t expectin’ no message; oi wor 
expectin’ hersel’,” retorted Job, suspiciously. 

“ She is not here! ” said the widow, with growing 
consternation. 

“ Wher’ be she, then?” he demanded savagely. 

“ I know nothing about it. She was not at home 
last night; she said nothing of staying out; she has 
never done the like before. I fear,” concluded the 
widow, losing her habitual control, “ something has 
happened to her.” 

“ ’F ther’s onythin’ ill hoppened her,” said Job, 
threateningly, “’t ’ll go bod wi’ ye all! ” 

“ The paper! ” cried the widow, with sudden re¬ 
lief, —“ the paper — read it! It may explain! ” 

“ It’s no good to me,” he said, shaking his head 
sullenly. “Read it you!” 

The widow opened the hastily scribbled note and 
turned pale as she read: — 

Dear Job, — I have served you ill turns before, but 
this is the worst. I have gon away. Take no more heed of 
me, — I am not worth your pains. But mind this, — remem¬ 
ber what I say, — is my own foU ; let noboddy blaim him ! 
One word more. O Job, for the sake of the old days, — of 
the times when we were children, — spare me your curses! 
That is all. God bless you! Forget I ever lived, and 
never, never again speak the name of 


Agnes Surriage. 


CHAPTER xxirr. 


COUNTING THE COST. 

S IDE by side on Garden Court Street stood two 
of the stateliest mansions in the town, — one, 
the ill-fated dwelling of Lieutenant-Governor Hutch¬ 
inson ; the other, bordering upon Bell Alley, the 
scarcely less noted house of Charles Henry Frank- 
land. 

The well-known cut in the histories, taken from a 
painted panel which once adorned the interior, shows 
the outside of the Collector’s house to have been 
bald and plain to severity. This, however, was but 
an architectural mask, — a Puritanical cloak, as it 
were, covering the swashing bravery of a Royalist and 
courtier. In effect, it was an unconscious concession 
of the new dispensation to the old theocratic spirit 
fast passing away. For behind this cold and for¬ 
bidding facade was hidden a sumptuous interior, 
of which we have alluring details. The vast hall 
running through the midst, the old staircase leading 
off, so broad and easy of ascent that Frankland 
used to ride his pony up and down, the splendid 
decoration of the lower rooms with their wainscoted 
walls illuminated by painted panels, the mantel-pieces 
of wrought Italian marble, surmounting hearths laid 


COUNTING THE COST. 


257 


in painted tiles of finest porcelain, the tessellated 
floors composed of hundreds of rarest woods, the 
fluted and richly carved columns supporting the 
ceiling, the gilded pilasters and cornices, the buffet 
groaning with massive plate, the cellar stocked with 
choicest wines, — these are some of the sounding 
phrases in the description of this old-time mansion, 
which yet a latter-day citizen would find wanting in 
the prime necessaries of life; for in all the sum of its 
appointments there is no mention of a furnace, a gas- 
*)ipe, a bath-room, or an ice-chest. In view of all 
this, it is pathetic to reflect that the eighteenth 
century plumed itself upon its civilization. 

Like a body reft of its soul, Agnes sat amid the 
splendor of her new home. She passed the time in 
wandering aimlessly from room to room and staring 
blankly out of the windows. Life, as it were, passed 
on and around her without touching her at any point. 
She seemed waiting for the world to go by and leave 
her alone. Withal she made no show of grief other 
than sitting day in and day out wearing the with¬ 
drawn, brooding look which haunts the faces of 
certain antique statues. 

Frankland was deeply concerned. This mood of 
Agnes was quite out of the range of his experience. 
He studied her face and watched her every move¬ 
ment with ceaseless solicitude but increasing per¬ 
plexity. At times, his own invention at fault, he 
appealed in despair to Agnes herself. 

“ What is it ails you ? Be a good girl, now, and 
tell me! If it were grief yon would weep, but I 
never find you in tears. If it were anger you would 
17 


258 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


vent reproaches on me. If it were aversion — but 
no, I will not yet believe — Tell me, Agnes, that I 
am not hateful to you ! ” 

For all answer, she simply put her hand in his. 

“ Why then, dear creature, what is it keeps you in 
this woful state ? ” 

She raised her eyes to his with a look so ex¬ 
pressive of the futility of explanation to one who 
needed to ask it, — a look, too, which had so unmis¬ 
takable a touch of profound pity for the querist, 
that Frankland was much discomfited. Perhaps that 
look suddenly revealed to him a certain remote¬ 
ness in their spiritual states which forbade entire 
fellowship. 

“ My dear,” he broke out a few days after at the 
breakfast-table, “I cannot bear to see you in this 
way, I have made up my mind to send for the 
doctor out of hand.” 

Agnes looked at him vacantly a moment, when, as 
if the sense of his words had just reached her, she 
cried out with great earnestness,— 

* Do not! oh, do not, I beg! ” 

“Yet something must be done ; you will listen to 
nothing I advise.” 

“ But I am quite well,” she pleaded, rubbing her 
hands and straightening herself in the chair as if in 
proof. 

“On the contrary, I am convinced you are very 
ill.” 

“ Oh, no! I assure you, I have no pain.” 

“ You are as white as chalk.” 

“ ’T is nothing.” 


COUNTING THE COST . 


259 


“And do not eat enough to keep a sparrow alive.” 

“ But if’t is all I need — ” 

“ ’Tis not; look at your plate now.” 

She gazed blankly at her untouched breakfast, 
saying in a tone of constraint, as she rose from the 
table, — 

“ I am not hungry now; I will eat by and by.” 

“ So you say every day, but the ‘ by and by ’ never 
comes, and you grow more pale and ill all the time. 
What can I do? I search the shops and markets 
through in quest of tidbits, but you will have none 
of them.” 

Agnes looked troubled. 

“Look yonder, my dear,” he said, putting his 
arm about her as they moved away from the table; 
“ there lie the flowers I fetched you last night, all 
withered because you cared not enough to put them 
in water.” 

“I — I pray you forgive me!” 

She gathered up the faded flowers with a look of 
remorse. 

“Poh! poh! ’t is no matter. You shall have fresh 
ones to-day. ’Tis not of the flowers I think; ’tis 
that you ’re no longer yourself. You look like one 
distraught. You stare at me when I speak, you 
heed not what I say. You even forget that I am 
with you, and care not at all for my great anxiety on 
account of the state you are in.” 

Startled, as it seemed, by this accusing tone, and 
moved perhaps by the gravity and earnestness of his 
look, on a sudden impulse Agnes threw her arms 
about his neck and hid her face in his bosom. 


260 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“There — so; you are yourself again,” stroking 
her head tenderly. “ And now are you willing to go 
to a little trouble to please me ? ” 

“God forbid I should shrink from any pains to 
oblige you! ” 

“ Hark you, then! I will go to the office and 
despatch what there may be of moment, and make 
haste back again. At ten o’clock I will have the 
horses at the door, and — ” 

“ No, no! ” starting up with a look of consterna¬ 
tion,— “not that! I am not able — I cannot go 
out.” 

“ Ah, but that’s the trouble. You will not do the 
one thing will cure you. ’T is the lack of fresh air is 
all the matter.” 

She closed her eyes weariedly, with the former 
look of resignation to hopeless misunderstanding on 
her averted face, and made no answer. 

“ Come, now, dear, listen to me, and — ” 

“ Nay, do not press me in this matter! ” 

“ But,” he began, with persistency. 

She shook her head with so harassed an air that he 
desisted. He stood toying with his ruffles for a few 
moments, with a look of vexation, and then, heaving 
a little sigh of disappointment, went off to the Cus¬ 
tom House. 

He came home as usual to a mid-day dinner, and 
went flying upstairs with an air of great bustle and 
excitement, where he found Agnes seated at her 
chamber-window, still wearing her morning toilet, 
and holding in her hand the withered flowers. 

“Great news — there is great news, girl!” he 


COUNTING THE COST. 


261 


shouted, with his eyes ablaze. “ The town is agog. 
The heroes of Louisbourg are come back! They 
were sighted outside two hours and more ago, and by 
this are come to anchor in the harbor. They will be 
received this very afternoon, and never was seen 
such a bustle of preparation; ’t will be the greatest 
sight ever known in Boston. Hurrah, my dear! 
Try now and join me in a little cheer, and see how 
’t will stir your blood! Aha! I think I detect a 
very, very faint little tinge creeping back to its old 
home here! ” playfully patting her cheeks. 

What with the suddenness of his entrance and the 
enthusiasm of his manner, Agnes did indeed flush 
with contagious excitement. 

“ But what is here ? Fie! Still wearing your 
breakfast-gown? Come, now, make haste and call 
your maid. Do you see the hour ? Dinner will be 
dished before you are in order.” 

Frankland was so full of the news that he could 
talk of nothing else at dinner, or so he would have it 
appear. 

“ You remember Warren, of course,” he went on, 
as they rose from the table. “ ’T is my old friend, 
the Commodore. I have often told you of him. He 
ha3 covered himself with glory, and there is talk of 
knighting him, and Pepperell as well. Pepperell is 
with him, you know. The two will be received to¬ 
gether, and with equal honor; there was never anything 
like it! You shall go with me to see the parade,” 
— with a sidelong glance at her,—“ the carriage will 
be here directly. Every mother’s son in town will 
be there. Egad! we will have Warren to stay with 


262 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


us! Dear old Peter! How rejoiced I shall be to 
embrace a genuine British tar still smelling of gun¬ 
powder. Ah, it quite turns my head ! Hush ! there 
go the guns; they are moving up the harbor; the 
shipping is firing salutes! Quick, fly and get on 
your bonnet! Here comes the carriage!” 

Agnes stood looking at the floor with an irresolute 
and troubled air. 

44 Now, my dear girl, do not object — ” 

She put up her hand as if to speak, but he would 
not suffer her. 

44 No,” he went on, imperatively, 44 1 will listen to 
you when we get back. Come, Agnes,” with sudden 
seriousness, “you will pain me very much if you 
refuse! ” 

There was a show of yielding in her face. 

44 What should you dread ? I shall be with you ; 
I will not quit your side for a moment — 99 

44 1 will go ! ” she said suddenly. 

44 Bravo! There’s my old Agnes; this is a great 
day. Hark! There go the guns from the Castle! 
Quick! quick, my love ! let us be there before they 
make the landing ! ” 

Once seated in the carriage they drove straight to 
King’s Street, and took their place in the throng of 
vehicles which blocked every approach to that chief 
thoroughfare of the town. 

True enough, as the Collector said, Boston had 
known few such opportunities for a pageant. Nature, 
too, conspired to the success of the occasion by 
making that 1st of June a radiant day. The whole 
populace came forth to celebrate their first great 


COUNTING THE COST. 


263 


military achievement, now renowned through all the 
world. 

Amid the roar of guns, the clangor of bells, and 
the shouts of the people, Agnes sat unmoved, gazing 
upon the general tumult as upon some mad and 
meaningless raving. 

Not so Frankland ; his blood was fired. “ See, 
see ! ” he cried, standing up in the carriage; “ yonder 
is the 4 Chester * with the blue banner. Warren is 
Commodore of the Blue, you know. Did you ever 
see a British man-of-war ? Look, then; you never 
saw the like of that before ! Hark! What’s all the 
drumming? Ah, the Boston regiment. Here they 
come ! This is their training-day; they’ve been 
drilling all the morning on the Common. Egad ! but 
they march well, too. What now ? Ay, ay ! I see ; 
drawing up in two lines to let the procession pass 
through. That shouting must be for the Governor. 
Sure enough ; here come the Cadets! That’s Cap¬ 
tain Pollard in front. Worthy Ben looks like Fal- 
staff in that toggery. Here’s Shirley at last; his 
Excellency’s wig is something awry ; but a hero can 
afford to be careless of his harness. Look at those 
solemn stalkers at the Governor’s heels ! ’T is the 
worshipful Council, and next behind come the honor¬ 
able representatives; they ’re all on the march down 
to Long Wharf to help Warren and Pepperell 
ashore.” 

While waiting for the procession to return, the 
people naturally occupied themselves with one an¬ 
other. So fine an equipage as the Collector’s did not 
escape notice. Many a curious eye was turned upon 


264 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the grand coach in which Agnes sat pale, silent, and 
consciously shrinking. 

Her retirement was destined to be rudely invaded. 
They were suddenly hailed by an assertive personage 
from the crowd. 

“ Hello, I say, Frankland ! well met, I vow! Never 
was sight of faithful vestryman more opportune to a 
distressed rector. Here have I been for half an hour 
trampled under the heels of this unmannerly mob, 
little dreaming of your presence. ,, 

“ Come in ! Come in ! Here is plenty of room/' 
opening the coach door. “ Mr. Price, my dear! ” 

Agnes started and turned red and pale by turns 
as the bustling clergyman promptly accepted the 
invitation and climbed up to the seat by her side. 

“Good-day to you, Miss Surriage. I am glad to 
be of your company. Ah, this is a blissful relief, I 
assure you! ” settling his ample person among the 
comfortable cushions. “ I hope I may not discom¬ 
mode you.” 

Agnes muttered a confused disclaimer, which was 
lost in the bustle. 

“ ’T is a rare day and a great occasion,” went on 
the parson. “ Yes, there’s nothing that brings out 
your vulgar and your gentle, and reduces all for the 
nonce to a common level of humanity, like the war- 
fever, — love of the vain bubble glory, and all that. 
Frankland, you ’re as bad as the rest. I’ve been 
watching you; not a whit more conservative than 
the rabble. As for me, if you ask my business, why, 
forsooth, I’m making parochial calls.” 

The Collector laughed. “ No, I’m one of them 


COUNTING THE COST. 


265 


to-day, and I let it come out. I’ve a right to a little 
enthusiasm, too, for Warren is an old crony of mine; 
I am come to swell his triumph. You yourself 
would like friend Peter; he ’s much after your pat¬ 
tern. 111 have you to meet him, if Shirley swallows 
him not bodily.’’ 

“ So do; count on me! Nothing would suit me 
better than such a bout; and afterwards you shall 
bring him down to my new place at Hopkinton.” 

“ What, yonder in the wilderness where ’t is said 
you are striving to transplant the Church of Eng¬ 
land?” 

“ And have transplanted it. Come down and see 
my new chapel! ’T is already consecrated, and en¬ 
dowed, too, with a fine glebe. For myself, I have 
a comfortable little box just across the way, with 
an estate half as big as an Irish county, all picked up 
for a mere song.” 

“ What signifies the size, if it’s all forest ? ” 

“ But it’s not; ’t is a fine, fertile country, a virgin 
soil—” 

“ Oh, never a doubt.” 

“ With views not to be matched, brooks swarming 
with trout — ” 

“ Eh?” 

“ Upon my word! ” 

“ Why, now you are talking to the point.” 

“And such shooting as I have not met in the 
country.” 

“ You would make us believe it a paradise.” 

“ Why, so it is, — of peace and quiet and all ra¬ 
tional enjoyment. If now I can but get that nig- 


266 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


gardly London Society or my very cautious Lord 
Bishop to endow my infant church, and if, also, I can 
procure you and a few other Christian souls to go 
thither, we might realize poor Berkeley’s dream of 
a model community.” 

“ But what chance for the poor laity, now that the 
church has laid its mortmain grasp on all the land ? ” 

“ Bless my heart, sir, there’s land enough for all 
creation! Come down and see, and I ’ll pledge my 
word you 11 return owner of a fine plantation, and 
honor my name and memory for putting it in your 
way. Come, what do you say ? ” 

“ I will bind myself by no promises.” 

“ You shall at least bind yourself by a promise to 
visit us, and you shall bring Miss Surriage too. My 
dear madam,” turning suddenly to Agnes, “ we shall 
be glad to see you as well. We may then get better 
acquainted. As it is, I see you but once in a dog’s 
age. Where do you keep hid so closely ? Are you 
still lodging with the old Puritan duenna of Tileston 
Street?” 

Agnes, seized with panic, looked helplessly at 
Frankland. Happily his ingenuity was not put to 
the test, for a tremendous salvo of artillery announced 
that the heroes had landed, and directly the air was 
filled with uproar. 

Amid the booming of cannon, volleys of mus¬ 
ketry, clanging of bells, and the hoarse cheering of 
the multitude, the martial Governor led the brace of 
heroes to the Town House, where, in speeches which 
should be framed in gold and hung up within those 
time-honored walls as eternal models of brevity for 


COUNTING THE COST . 267 

maundering posterity, they received the honors show¬ 
ered upon them. 

“ I am obliged to this Honorable House,” said the 
gallant tar, “ for the great respect they have shown 
me. They may depend on my zeal and service while 
I live for the colonies in general and this province 
in particular.” 

“ I,” quoth in turn “ the great man of Kittery,” 
“ am heartily obliged to the Honorable House for the 
respect they have shown me, and I shall be always 
ready to risk my life and fortune for the good of my 
dear native country.” 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


TRIAL AND VERDICT. 


FTER her experience at the Warren and Pep- 



perell reception, it will be no matter of won¬ 
der that Agnes shut herself up closer than ever. No 
inducement, indeed, could tempt her to cross her own 
threshold, nor would she see any of the numerous 
guests who frequented the house. Frankland pleaded 
with her in vain. She sometimes, it would seem, 
grew wearied of his remonstrances. 

“ But you are losing your beauty, my darling.” 

She made a movement of impatience. 

“ And your health, too, will soon be impaired under 
such treatment.” 


“ What matter if it be ? ” 

“ Vital matter; for life is worth nothing without 


“ Tis all one to me.” 

“ Fie, fie! lay aside that tone ! The whole trouble 
lies in a nutshell: this jail-bird life robs you of your 
spirits. With your cheer, away flies your appetite; 
and all is founded upon your perverseness in prefer¬ 
ring imprisonment to liberty. I must needs chide you 
for such unreasonableness.” 

He spoke with such an air of conviction that 
Agnes sighed as if in despair of finding any other 
answer. 


TRIAL AND VERDICT . 


269 


u Come, then, let me help you drive away these 
vapors! Come out into the sunshine, and see the 
flowers, and hear the birds sing! They will bring 
back your old self.” 

“ Can they bring back”—she checked her outburst 
of bitterness, and concluded with self-control — “ the 
past ? ” 

“ And would you in truth bring back the past ? ” 

She shook her head drearily. 

“ Were you happier then? Would you go back to 
Tileston Street and leave me ? ” 

She drew nearer him with a half shudder, but did 
not answer. 

“ Why, then, darling, cannot you be happy ? Go 
about as you used to do. I will go with you. I 
will not quit your side. I will protect you from 
impertinence.” 

“ Even though you were to protect me from the judg¬ 
ment and censure of my neighbors and townsmen — ” 

“ I will, I can. No one shall address you of whose 
respect and demeanor I am not assured.” 

“ There is still one against whom all your powers 
cannot avail.” 

“ Divine Mercy — ” 

“ Hush, hush! I dare not think— Do not speak 
of that! ” 

“ What then —whom else do you dread ? ” 

“ Myself.” 

“’Tis because you shut me out of your heart. 
You will not tell me your thoughts. Believe me, 
dearest creature, if you will but confide in me, I 
will find a way to protect you even from yourself.” 


270 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Oh, nothing, — nothing can ever do that now!” 
starting up with a sudden air of wildness, with hands 
pressed to her bosom. 

“ There, there! ” folding his arms about her ten¬ 
derly. “ How can we ever hope to cure this trouble 
while you are forever brooding upon it ? Let’s think 
of something else. Come, now, go off with me for a 
walk into the fields ; out on the hills; in the wild- 
wood, where we can get away from this pest of hu¬ 
manity and into companionship of Nature.” 

“ Nature is for those whose minds and hearts are 
in tune with her; she will hold no companionship 
with such as I.” 

“ Fudge and faddle ! Come, now, I shall get down¬ 
right angry with you. I will hear no more such stuff. 
You shut your ears to reason; you heed nothing I 
say. Upon my word, at times I think you care for 
me no longer.” 

She looked disturbed at his unusual sharpness of 
tone. He went on, laboriously working up his fit of 
indignation : — 

“ ’T is no matter what pitch of anxiety I am in, you 
heed it not a jot. I am persuaded you do not care. 
I never thought you could be so selfish. You shut me 
out of your heart and life. You live as much alone 
as a hermit, moping and brooding over your own 
thoughts, — and most unwholesome ones at that. 
Thus wrapped up in yourself, you have not a care to 
waste upon my unhappy state.” 

“ Do you, indeed, think this ? ” with a look of 
pain. 

“ Have I not warrant enough ? ” 


TRIAL AND VERDICT. 271 

She looked at him intently, suspecting a want of 
sincerity in his petulance. 

“ Agnes,” he went on, dropping his pretence as if 
ashamed of it, u we two stand, as it were, against the 
world. We should be all in all to each other. What 
need we care whether others approve our course ? 
Our duty is to be faithful to each other. Speak the 
word, and we will go away from here. If there be 
aught lacking to your happiness, tell me. I will get 
you anything the world affords.” 

“ Go, get me back my innocence ! ” she cried with 
a sudden outburst, and hurried from the room. 

Shocked at this violent reproach, — the first that 
had passed her lips, — Frankland sat brooding over 
it for hours. Late at night, when the footsteps 
had died away in the streets, and the wax-lights 
burned low in the sconces, there was a rustle of silk 
behind him, and Agnes flung herself down beside his 
chair. 

“ Forgive my frantic words! I was beside myself. 
Have patience with me, Frankland ; pity me ! At 
times it seems my wits are wanting, and I act like a 
child.” 

If, as was natural, Frankland hoped for any good 
results from this incident, he was doomed to disap¬ 
pointment. It needed only another experience of dif¬ 
ferent sort but similar significance to convince him 
he had yet little cause for congratulation. 

Smybert, after a wearisome delay, at last sent 
home the portrait. It was done in his well-known 
style and at its best. Indeed, honest John would 
seem to have been a little inspired by his subject; for 


272 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the painting, although it showed no very high or 
subtle qualities, had a captivating vitality. 

Frankland was more than satisfied, — he was de- 
lighted. Thinking to give the original a pleasant 
surprise, he blindfolded and brought her up to it as it 
hung over the fireplace in the drawing-room. 

She uttered a cry as if hurt, and recoiled violently. 
That fair, smiling face, triumphant in its beauty and 
securely happy in its new-pledged love, was a terrible 
reminder. She insisted upon its removal; and, in«- 
deed, the very thought of its presence in the house 
was so obnoxious that the discomfited Collector took 
it away to his office. 

Meantime other influences intervened to effect what 
entreaty, expostulation, and reproach had in vain 
attempted. 

Frankland came home one evening with a grave 
face, and sat for a long time studying his patient as if 
hesitating to say what he had in mind. Concluding, 
perhaps, that the case could not be worse, and that 
the experiment was worth trying, he ventured at 
length : — 

“ I have bad news for you, my dear ! ” 

She regarded him with the look — void of either 
curiosity or concern — of one who had passed beyond 
the reach of human emotions. 

He handed her a copy of the “Evening Post,” 
with his thumb on the following item: — 

“ Last Night, died at Dorchester , greatly lamented, after 
a few days’ Illness, the Lady of His Excellency Our 
Governor.” 


TRIAL AND VERDICT. 


273 


Staring at the passage as if it conveyed no mean¬ 
ing to her mind, Agnes let the paper fall upon the 
table without comment. 

After waiting for a space, Frankland said in protest 
against such indifference, — 

“ Poor Shirley ! ’t will be a sad blow to him. She 
was a fine woman. She was a faithful wife to him. She 
has been a faithful friend to both of us, my dear! ” 

Without a word of assent, or the least evidence of 
interest, Agnes rose and walked away. An hour 
afterwards Frankland found her sitting upstairs in 
the gloom, her face wet with tears. 

“Why, Agnes,” he said, taking her in his arms 
impulsively, “ I wondered you did not care.” 

Directly she burst into a fit of weeping. A most 
prolonged and uncontrollable fit it proved. The dam 
once broken down, the whole flood swept over. 

Although somewhat haggard and jaded, she rose 
next morning in a frame of mind which the anxious 
Collector recognized as in some measure a return of 
her natural self. 

Of her own accord she expressed a wish for a suit 
of mourning that she might go to the funeral. 

Only too gladly Frankland assented to a purpose 
so entirely in accord with his own wish; and ac¬ 
cordingly on the day of the funeral their coach took] 
its place in the mourning cavalcade, in company with 
“ the Honourable his Majesty’s Council and House of 
Representatives, and a vast Number of the principal 
Gentry of both Sexes of this and the Neighbouring 
Towns.” The “ Post ” in its issue next day described 
the funeral at length : — 

18 


274 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“ During the Procession, which began at Three O’clock, 
P. M., the Guns at Castle William and the Town Batteries 
fired every half Minute, as did also those on board his 
Majesty’s Ships, Chester, Henchingbrook, Massachusetts, 
and Boston Packet. The Corps being carried into the 
King’s Chapel, the Rev. M r Commissary Price preached a 
sermon very suitable to the mournful occasion from Rev. 
xiv. 13: ‘ Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from 
henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from 
their labours; and their works do follow them.* ” 

Next Sunday there was a profound sensation at 
King’s Chapel when Frankland handed Agnes up the 
aisle to the head of his own pew. Her face, refined 
by traces of suffering, its clear pallor set off by her 
mourning garments, never had the effect of her beauty 
been more marked or irresistible. Not the widowed 
Governor in the pew of State, surrounded by his or¬ 
phaned children, was an object of more universal 
attention. 

Agnes alone was oblivious of the notice bestowed 
upon her; with devout face and unaffected piety she 
sat through the service in rapt attention to its pur¬ 
pose and meaning. 

As the congregation rose to disperse, the two found 
themselves surrounded and jostled in the crowded 
aisles by friends and acquaintances. It proved a 
terrible moment. Agnes had plainly not realized 
that she was coming to her trial. The place, the 
relative attitude of the parties, — everything tended 
to emphasize the ordeal. Public opinion pronounced 
its verdict, while it held the culprits in durance. 
That verdict, a silent thunderbolt, fell with swiA 


TRIAL AND VERDICT . 


275 


and crushing force. No throng in Roman amphi¬ 
theatre ever turned down their thumbs in more mer¬ 
ciless accord than these good pious Christians met 
under a consecrated roof and fresh risen from bowed 
adoration of One who in his large and tender charity 
said: “ He that is without sin among you, let him 
first cast a stone at her.” 

For a space Agnes was overwhelmed. She shook 
violently; her strength failed. In the delirious whirl 
of the senses which precedes loss of consciousness, 
she suddenly felt Frankland’s arm upholding and 
supporting her. It was an Ithuriel touch. By a 
supreme effort she regained self-control. No longer 
heeding the disdainful looks of those about her, 
clinging fast to him, with her pallid face upturned 
to his in love and confidence, she made her slow way 
out of church. She had chosen one against the 
world,—one who, however much he had wronged 
her, had yet in the hour of trial stood stanchly up to 
shield her against the deadly scorn of her kind. 


CHAPTER XXV. 


A BARONET. 


EXT day Agnes fell ill, and for the first time in 



i ^1 her life. Hitherto, perfect health had crowned 
her as with an aureola. She was like a wild bird 
shut in a cage, and proved a most intractable invalid. 
Frankland was in sore straits how to manage her. 
She would not be coddled, stubbornly refused all pills 
and possets, and became violent at the mention of a 
doctor. 

Happily it was a case which could safely be left 
to Nature, — a quotidian fever, which while it wasted 
her flesh, blanched her skin, and weighed down her 
limbs with lassitude, yet made no alarming inroad 
upon her vitality. To confirm her constant state¬ 
ment that she was quite well, she must needs be up 
and dressed every day despite all protests, creeping 
languidly about the house and curling herself up in 
the sunny window-seats after her old habit at the 
Widow Ruck’s. 

It was noteworthy that her mind seemed to regain 
tone as her body lost it. This cropped out gradually 
and in little things, — straws upon the current; she 
began to act as if at home, to assume the tone of a 
mistress to the servants and slaves, — in short, to treat 
hei surroundings as belongings. 


A BARONET. 


277 


A corresponding change of mental attitude toward 
the outer world presently became apparent. Frank- 
land discovered it with equal surprise and delight; 
but, as most clearly a policy deliberately adopted upon 
conviction, which in its turn was as evidently the 
fruit of mature thought, it warned him of unsuspected 
reserves still existing between them. 

One evening he was late in getting home. Having 
crept down to meet him, she threw herself upon a 
sofa in the parlor to wait upon his tardiness. Com¬ 
ing in presently, he stopped on the threshold and 
stared, no doubt at the very pretty picture she made, 
what with her careless attitude, her black hair fall¬ 
ing softly about her pallid face, all emphasized by 
admirable details of a pale blue robe and white 
quilted petticoat against the yellow damask of the 
sofa. 

A glad look overspread her face, more significant 
than a smile. He sat down to tell her the gossip of 
the day, when directly they were interrupted by a 
loud knock at the street-door. 

Frankland turned to warn the servant who passed 
through the hall. 

“ He knows,” said Agnes, anticipating the move¬ 
ment ; “ he has orders to admit no one at this 
hour.” 

Listening idly they heard the man, faithful to his 
orders, deny the visitor admission, when directly an 
imperative voice was heard to say : — 

“ But I won’t be sent away ; I hear Miss Surriage 
is ill. Go say to your master ’t is his pastor, the 
Reverend Mr. Price.” 


278 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


A firm step was heard the next minute in the halh 
Frankland turned quickly to shut the door, but before 
he could interpose, the Commissary entered the room. 

“Ah, here you are within ear-shot,” he went on 
without embarrassment; “ so you heard me running 
the guard — ” 

Frankland looked anxiously at Agnes, fearful of 
the effect of this intrusion. He must have marvelled 
at her absolute composure. Reassured, he turned to 
the visitor with outstretched hand. 

“ You deserve a welcome for your boldness in 
forcing an entrance; the man had orders to admit 
nobody, on account of — ” 

“ Miss Surriage. Yes, I heard she was ill. ’T was 
on her account I came,” turning and shaking hands 
cordially with Agnes. 

Frankland was amazed, and at a loss, too, what to 
think. Well as he knew his pastor, it would have 
been impossible to say from his manner whether he 
was so engrossed with the approaching crisis in his 
own affairs as to see nothing unusual in Agnes’s 
presence in the house, or whether, having heard of 
the scene at the Chapel, he had come promptly to 
emphasize his disapproval of the behavior of his 
flock. It is significant of Frankland’s estimate of the 
clergyman that he should have found these theories 
equally consistent with his character. 

The Commissary’s next speech dispelled all doubt 
as to his thought and feeling in the matter. It was 
unfortunate that his manner suffered a falling off 
from the high level of his motive. 

“ I’m sorry to see you in this case, madam, but 


A BARONET. 


279 


hope by finding you downstairs that you ’re on the 
mend already. I feared you might lack attention 
from outside friends in your — in the — that is, under 
the circumstances.” 

Agnes’s reception of this overture was interesting. 
Without embarrassment, without a trace of pride or 
resentment, she listened and replied. Partly by her 
calmness, — the calmness of one withdrawn upon a 
plane beyond the reach of the world’s approval or 
censure, — and partly by a subtler suggestion of 
something in her manner which Frankland puzzled 
his brain vainly to analyze, she effectively rejected the 
too apparent condescension of her visitor and left 
him disconcerted. 

All this by her manner; her words were common¬ 
place enough : — 

“ My thanks, sir ; but I have suffered yet no lack 
of attention.” 

“Ah, so! I’m glad to hear it; ’tis plain, too, 
you ’re not in danger, or you’d hardly be here.” 

“ There’s no cause to make my health the subject 
of concern, sir. I assure you, I am laid down here 
because I am — tired, as you may say.” 

“ That being the case, I shall dismiss all anxiety, 
madam; and since you are in so fair a way, I may as 
well broach some business I have with the Collector, 
( in which you, too, should be interested. Upon my 
word, now I think upon it, ’t would be a stroke of 
policy, madam, to win you over before I attack 
Frankland.” 

Agnes shook her head weariedly. “ I have small 
influence with him in that way.” 


280 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Nay, never trust her! ” broke in Frankland, quite 
delighted with Agnes’s altered manner. “ ’T is she 
rules the roast and tyrannizes over us all; you will 
do well to begin with her.” 

“ Oh! I am sure of that, and venture upon it the 
readier that I have great confidence in her good 
sense,” said the Commissary, with re-established com¬ 
posure. “Nevertheless, I will spare my breath to 
cool my broth, and aim at both birds with the same 
stone. You remember our little talk about Hop- 
kinton the day you rescued me from the mob. Ay ! 
I see you do. Well, then, you must know I am but 
just back from another visit. Ah, Frankland ! ah, 
madam ! there’s the place for you both! ” 

“ The same old story,” said Frankland, smiling. 

“ The very same, save that I’ve a new chapter to 
tell: this time while there I had you in mind, and 
looking about a bit, discovered several contiguous 
tracts, — some hundreds of acres in all, — held at a 
contemptible rate, which would make you a noble 
plantation. Bethink you, sir! Go down there and 
build a fine mansion, take along a dozen slaves, with 
horses and dogs, and you may keep the state of a 
prince on a few thousand pounds! ” 

Frankland dissembled his growing interest and 
cavilled: — 

“If I could but place faith in this account of 
yours, my lord Commissary, no doubt I should 
speedily become a convert; but I have so often heard 
you draw upon the same glowing fancy in painting 
the glories of a future life, which you can know 
nothing about, that I beware of you a bit.” 


A BARONET. 


231 


“Nay,” said the Commissary, laughing, “if all 
my powers of imagination have availed to bring you 
no nearer heaven than you are, it proves them to be 
very limited; but here is no fancy at all, I assure 
you, but literal fact.” 

“ But moving so far away from civilization is like? 
going back to the savage state.” 

“ Never a bit; you take your civilization with 
you. For the matter of that, say I, give me one 
thing or the other, — civilization or barbarism. As 
for this hybrid condition we are in here, — why, the 
wilderness is a thousand times to be preferred.” 

Frankland could find no objection to an opinion 
so often uttered in still stronger terms by himself. 

“Life will blossom into new beauty and sweet¬ 
ness when we once get out of this stifling Puritan at¬ 
mosphere,” went on the clergyman, “ where a man 
cannot do as he lists without having these busy- 
bodies nosing about to see if his household is ordered 
in all respects after the pharisaical pattern.” 

The reverend gentleman glanced keenly from one 
to the other as he stopped to take out his snuff-box; 
he must have been gratified at the look of real 
interest in both faces. 

“ But, after all,” he went on, tapping the lid and 
offering Frankland a pinch, “ talk is Dut talk ; the 
proof of the pudding is in the eating. There is but 
one way to settle the matter, and that is, go and see 
for yourself. Come down both of you and visit us ! 
Your fare may be indifferent, for Mrs. Price is slow 
in adapting herself to circumstances : she can do 
nothing without the Thursday market. But with all 


282 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


its drawbacks — mark my words! — you will both 
come home converts to barbarism ! ” 

Frankland gave a conditional promise, and the 
Commissary went his way, leaving the case to the 
cogent working of other influences. 

Since their appearance together at the Chapel, 
public discontent, confined at first to whispered cen¬ 
sure and corner mutterings, had gathered the force 
of a tempest, and now burst upon the head of 
the dismayed Collector in an overwhelming torrent 
of admonition, protestation, and threat. He awoke 
to the fact that there was a new factor in the social 
problem of which he had never before been aware. 
That which he had played with all his life as a fine 
and sounding phrase, now suddenly materialized and 
started up into terrible life as a frowning Nemesis. 

Pending all this, whether by accident or design 
can never now be known, came the Commissary 
again with a more definite invitation. Frankland 
promptly accepted, and the two made a flying trip to 
the wilderness. 

As his pastor predicted, Frankland came home 
full of enthusiasm, and in the course of the first 
evening sheepishly confessed to Agnes that he had 
already made overtures toward the purchase of a 
plantation. 

She listened in silence to his glowing justification. 

“ ’T is plain you do not want to go yonder,” he 
said, with a natural interpretation of her silenca 
“ You dread the rough life of the wilderness.” 

“ I lived a rough life once, and was happy.” 

“ That was when you were a child.” 


A BARONET. 


283 


“ Yes.” 

“ And knew nothing better.” 

She repressed the words which rose to her lips, and 
he went on rather nervously and with constrained 
playfulness. 

44 But now you are a spoiled and pampered child 
of luxury, eh? Trust me, however! I will look out 
for your comfort.” 

She shook her head a little impatiently. 

44 What is it, then ? ” dropping his light tone. 

44 ’T is cowardly to run away.” 

He flushed. The answer was a little startling. 
It availed, moreover, to set him thinking, for he 
walked up and down a long time in silence. 

44 My dear,” he said, resuming his seat, “ ’twill not 
be pleasant for you to remain in this town.” 

44 Nay, I cannot expect it should.” 

44 But it will be harder than you think.” 

44 It could not well be that.” 

44 I may as well tell you that these busybodies are 
greatly aroused.” 

She nodded as if expecting to hear it. 

44 I have kept it from you because it seemed to no 
purpose that you should be pained. But now that 
this retreat is open to you, ’t is well you should know 
the truth. They flood me daily with protests and ex¬ 
hortations, — nay, the rascals have dared to threaten. 
For myself, I shall never be at a loss for protection,” 
— with a rattle of his sword-hilt — 44 but you, I fear, 
will be kept a prisoner here except when you go out 
with me.” 

Perhaps he expected some dismay at this announce- 


284 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


ment, for he seemed somewhat irritated when she 
quietly answered: — 

“They can do nothing worse than insult and 
affront me.” 

“ I know not that.” 

“ Whatever lengths they may go, let us not be 
frighted away, but stay and abide the penalty of our 
wrong-doing.” 

“ But they will not suffer us to remain.” 

“ They will assuredly not molest us in our home.” 

“ I would not answer for them — crack-brained 
fanatics. At any rate, they will knit their beetle- 
brows, turn up their Puritanical noses, and wag 
their d-d insolent tongues after us wherever we 






“ If, however, we deserve no better treatment — ” 

“ ‘Deserve*! How, tell me, have we injured them? ” 
“We have made a law unto ourselves.” 

“ And in what does that injure them ? ” 

“ In the dangerous example to others, as it may be 
held.” 

Again there was a pause, and Frankland walked 
up and down. 

“ I had not thought, my dear, you would need urg¬ 
ing to leave this wasp’s-nest; but I am rejoiced that 
you find such strength in yourself, and that you hold 
their scorn at so cheap a rate.” 

“ Nay,” covering her face with a shudder, “ it is 
terrible! ” 

“ Yet you would stay and court it? ” 

“ ’T is that I would suffer rather than escape my 
deserts.” 



A BARONET. 


285 


“ Meantime our holding out will be held an aggra¬ 
vation of the offence.” 

“ What signifies how it be held, if our motive be 
pure ? ” 

“We should, moreover, by remaining, be perpetu¬ 
ating the dangerous example you tell of. Have we 
any right to do that ? ” 

Agnes was silent; perhaps staggered at this con¬ 
sideration. 

Frankland followed up his advantage. “ A penalty 
imposed by a high moral authority one may bow to, 
but a gratuitous rebuke from these stiff-necked hypo¬ 
crites, who are as full of secret vices as an egg is of 
meat — poh! poh! My love, you shall kiss no such 
rod of discipline. We will leave them to their sanc¬ 
tity, and God help them all! ” 

“ If we had but some guidance in the matter — ” 

“We have the guidance of common-sense, and for 
the rest, I will take the responsibility. We cannot 
go wrong in getting from this into a purer atmosphere 
where Nature shall be our constant companion and 
the Commissary shall look after our souls.” 

Agnes did not look reassured, nor at all convinced. 
Several after discussions upon the same subject were 
to as little purpose. At a loss to sustain her position 
by argument, she retreated upon conscience. She 
knew it to be right because she felt it to be right. 
Socrates and his dialectics would retire discomfited 
before a woman intrenched in that stronghold. 
Frankland remembered her Puritan training, and 
looked hopeless. An unexpected event suddenly 
turned the tables in his favor. 


286 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


He came home one day with his eyes kindling, and 
two round spots glowing upon his cheeks, — marks of 
excitement, one would have said, but for his quiet 
manner. His manner, indeed, was too quiet, and 
suggested control. Agnes detected the change 
instantly, and said : — 

“ Something has happened.” 

Without a word he handed out a letter sealed with 
black. Agnes glanced at the foreign postmark, the 
strange handwriting, and saw nothing else. 

“ What is it ? ” 

“ Note the address ! ” 

She read aloud the superscription: “ Sir Charles 
Henry Frankland, Bart.” 

He looked at her in suspense. It seemed a whole 
minute that she stood puzzling over it. It dawned 
upon her like a flash at last, and she grew ashen 
white. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR. 

HE death without issue of Sir Thomas Frank- 



JL land, late Lord of the Admiralty, made his 
nephew over in America a baronet. Joined with 
the title were large proprietary interests, present and 
reversionary, dependent upon the terms of the will 
and the rights of the dowager Lady Frankland. 

Notwithstanding Agnes’s vague fears, the prefix to 
his name neither translated him out of the flesh nor 
brought with it any iron obligation to go back across 
the sea to the company of other creatures writing 
their names with like fantastic flourishes. On the 
contrary, he kept his mortal state, and with it certain 
human faults and frailties, among which need not 
necessarily be counted the shrewdness to see that a 
comfortable berth under Government, with a large 
and increasing income, might come no more amiss to 
a baronet than to a plain esquire. 

Withal, however, he took time for ripe considera¬ 
tion ; saying nothing meanwhile to Agnes, for the 
reason, no doubt, that his inclinations had not yet 
hardened into resolves. As he seems to have been 
quite unaware of her state of mind, so she on her 
part asked him no questions, nor broached the matter 


288 


AGNES JURRIAGE. 


in any way, but went on industriously giving rein to 
her imagination and working herself up to a fever 
of anxiety which reacted most unfavorably upon her 
convalescence. Plainly, Frankland had misinter¬ 
preted her emotion on receipt of the news, for he did 
not think necessary to speak a reassuring word to her 
during all the weeks of deliberation. 

Oddly enough, his decision was at last precipitated 
by a sudden move of the Commissary in resigning 
his charge at the King’s Chapel. 

This step caused little sensation in town, for mat¬ 
ters had long been coming to a crisis between Bishop 
Gibson’s lordly deputy and his contumacious parish¬ 
ioners. But it left the Commissary free to carry out 
a cherished purpose of going to England to raise 
funds for his infant church in the wilderness. 

In the course of his farewell preparations he went 
around one evening to Garden Court Street, and there 
made the suggestion which determined Frankland’s 
plans. 

After listening to the latter’s civil regrets at his 
resignation, he suddenly broke out,— 

“ But about your own affairs, Sir Harry; I sup¬ 
pose by this the new plantation is contracted for.” 

“ No; I must needs confess the whole matter is 
still in the clouds.” 

“ Clouds, sir ? Poh ! What’s it doing so far out 
of reach ? ” 

“Indeed,” — a little sheepishly, — “I have well- 
nigh given up all thought of the matter.” 

“ What has caused such a monstrous cooling off ? 
You came home, I can vouch for it, glowing like a 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR. 289 


firebrand. Come, sir, confess’t is your new dignity 
makes you so capricious ! ” 

44 Nay, ask Miss Surriage ! ” 

44 You, madam ? ” turning to Agnes. 

44 She will not hear of going thither.” 

44 Truly, the last quarter from which — ” 

The Commissary paused. His tone was more sig¬ 
nificant than his words. It was as well for him, 
perhaps, that Agnes was too much engrossed at the 
moment to heed either. 

44 And pray, madam, if you will pardon the curios¬ 
ity, what may be your objections ? ” 

44 1 have none,” faltered Agnes, reddening and 
paling. 

44 None ! ” from the Collector. 

44 Now, sir,” cried the triumphant Commissary, 
44 how are you put to shame ! Upon whom will you 
next shift the responsibility of your fickleness ? ” 

44 But — why, Agnes — ” 

44 1 have considered the matter more deeply since 
we talked upon it.” 

44 And you are now reconciled to go yonder to live?” 

44 If you still hold your purpose.” 

He stood foolishly staring. From his point of 
view amazement was justified ; the stultification was 
quite uncharacteristic. She sat flushed and discom¬ 
fited before him, her face a book in which only crass 
masculine stupidity could fail to read the story of a 
power dominant even over a Puritan conscience. 

44 So, Sir Harry, you see it all lies with you,” re¬ 
sumed the Commissary, blind to the private signifi¬ 
cances of the situation. 


19 


290 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Frankland did not answer, but went and leaned 
upon the mantel-piece, then over to the window and 
drummed upon the glass. Agnes’s eyes followed 
him in breathless suspense. 

The new bells in Christ Church tolled the curfew 
hour. He took out his chronometer mechanically, 
to correct any variance. 

“ Well, sir?” from the impatient Commissary. 

“ If it lies with me, ’t is soon settled.” 

“ Eh ? ” 

Agnes half rose in her chair. 

“ I ’ll have the land before the week is out.” 

“ Look, sir! Quick ! the lady — she is swooning ! ” 

But she was not. It was only a sudden faint¬ 
ness from which she speedily recovered. Making it, 
however, an excuse for retiring, she bade Mr. Price 
good-night and accepted Frankland’s arm to the 
door. 

Left to themselves, the two gentlemen returned to 
the subject, and the Commissary brought forth his 
proposition, which was an offer to let to Frankland 
his Hopkinton house during the year he was abroad, 
as a good vantage-point from which to oversee put¬ 
ting in order the new plantation. The offer was 
opportune and quite to Frankland’s liking, and no 
objection being now feared from Agnes, the bargain 
was concluded upon the spot. 

Sitting brooding upon the matter after the Com¬ 
missary went, Frankland was suddenly seized with a 
notion, and dashed upstairs. He found Agnes in her 
dressing-room. Banishing the maid and hartshorn 
bottle, he administered a more effectual restorative. 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR . 291 


<l Foolish girl! so you had no more faith than to 
think this change in fortune was to take me away 
from you ? ” 

She sought the nearest cover for her abashed face, 
which chanced to be his shoulder. 

Thus the fates seemed against Agnes in her high 
purposes. On the contrary, all those invisible and 
industrious agencies seemed bent on smoothing the 
way in the other direction, — the broad, easy, and 
comfortable direction of flight, in which she now 
found herself borne insensibly onward. 

In a fortnight they were packing up for Hopkin- 
ton. All was bustle and preparation. The change 
acted like a tonic upon her health; something of her 
usual spirits and vigor came back, as it seemed, with 
the need of them. 

A print from an old pencil-drawing still preserved 
gives a very good notion of the Commissary’s country- 
house,— Agnes’s first home in Hopkinton. A quaint 
wooden structure it was, with a hip roof, and the 
front door entering at one corner. Embowered in 
shrubbery, and surrounded upon two sides by a stone 
wall, it stood close upon the highway, where was an 
open greensward enclosed between two cross-roads, 
with a guide-post in the midst. 

In this serene retreat, far from frowning eyes and 
wagging tongues, busied with wholesome toil, cheered 
by Frankland’s presence, and sharing with him the 
absorbing pleasure of planning the thousand and one 
details of their new home, Agnes had no opportunity 
to be morbid, no leisure to take thought of her own 
state, no time to be unhappy. 


292 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


From this pastoral dream she was rudely awakened. 

Frankland came home from Boston one day with 
tidings of her father’s death. He was amazed at its 
effect upon her. He could not understand how it 
should prove so shocking. She had no longer any¬ 
thing in common with her father. He had never 
been a companion to his children, nor, whatever he 
may have felt, ever showed that interest and sym¬ 
pathy which begets mutual confidence and draws 
parent and child together. All this she had often 
confessed when talking of her early life. Why, then, 
this excessive grief? Thus he reasoned with her. 
She dumbly shook her head and made no answer. 
What was the use of answer! The fact that he 
could ask such a question showed how little he 
suspected chords in her heart struck to agony by 
that event which stood for so much beside the mortal 
release of one soul. 

The news had been some time upon the roadr 
There was doubt if she could arrive in time for the 
funeral. Despite some expostulation from Frank¬ 
land, she set out early the next morning to make 
the attempt. He accompanied her as far as Boston, 
whence, provided with fresh horses, she went on 
alone to Marblehead. 

It was late in the afternoon when she entered the 
little town. A welcoming breeze blew up from the 
sea, cooling her hot cheeks and tossing about her hair 
as she surmounted the ridge overlooking the harbor. 
Unconsciously she drew her lungs full of the honest 
salt vapor. She looked abroad over the little town; 
the sinking sun lit up the western fronts and gables 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR. 293 

into sharp prominence, and threw long shadows across 
the narrow streets and down the eastern slopes to the 
little harbor where the ships lay rocking and nodding 
about like a lot of old gossips having a twilight gabble, 
— the same old features, yet how shrunk and shriv¬ 
elled ; and with what changed eyes she had come back 
to them! All that belonged to Nature, — the sky, the 
sea, the rocks, the distant hills, — so vast, so expan¬ 
sive, and filled with freshest life! All that belonged 
to man, so cramped, mean, squalid, and decaying! 

Long accustomed to the luxury and elegance of her 
appointments, Agnes quite forgot the impression they 
must needs make upon her former townsmen. Busied 
with larger thoughts, she rolled along through the 
crooked streets quite oblivious of the sensation she 
created until awakened to the fact by some comment 
from the gapingcrowd as she neared her mother’s cot¬ 
tage. Then, suddenly changing her destination, she 
went thundering up the rocky steep to the shabby 
little door of the Fountain. 

Goodman Salkins stood lazily smoking a pipe in 
the doorway. Overcome for a moment by the sudden 
appearance of a coach and four, he stood stupidly 
staring at them until, called to himself by a sharp 
challenge from the footman, he came forward, duck¬ 
ing and scraping, hat in hand, to usher in the grand 
lady in whom he failed to recognize his barefooted 
kitchen wench of former years. 

Intent only upon her errand, Agnes greeted him as 
though they had parted but yesterday. 

“ Am I in time ? ” 

“ Heigh ? ” 


294 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ For the funeral ? ” 

“ Funneral — ye?” 

“Yes, yes, my father ; is he buried yet ? ” 

“ Por-rdon, me leddy, oi’m growin’ old, ’n’ a bit 
wull-gotherin’ i’ my wits; who is’t ye ’re talkin’ o’ ? ” 
“ Why, my own father, man ; dead and gone.” 

“ Yer for-rther, said ye ? ” 

“ Yes,” turning to look across the cove. “ Who are 
those yonder about the house? That may be the fun¬ 
eral now. See, there are more coming; it must be 
so. Goodman Salkins, look you attend to these men 
and horses; give them the best you have! For my¬ 
self, I will stay yonder with my mother.” 

“ Yer mother-r! Never-r tell me yer our old Ag 
Surriage! ” 

“ Yes, yes,” impatiently; “ and I must make haste 
over yonder. I am perhaps too late already.” 

“ No, no, yer i’ toime, never-r fear. The berryin’ 
was put off fur ye; folks doubted ’f ye’d come, a’ 
but Goody Surriage. She stuck stoutly to ’t ye’d be 
her’, ’n’ her’ ye be! Eh, to think o’ yer bein’ Ag 
Surriage! Ye’d not loike, mebbe, to bring back th’ 
old toimes now } T e ha’ grown so gr-rond! Oh, never-r 
fret! ye ’ll be i’ toime, oi tell ye I An’ so ye ’re our-r 
Ag! Goodness ’n’ mer-rcy! ye ha’ coome up into a 
foine shape ! Her’ ’ll be yer best way; th’ old path 
is given up ; they ha’ blosted th’ r-rock yonder-r — 
see! Eh, but ye wor a sure-footed little hussy i’ 
those toimes; oi’d never-r a one loike ye since, for 
war-rk. Take yer toime ; ther’s no haste, oi soy ! ” 
Unheeding the garrulous old man, Agnes hastened 
to the edge of the cliff, and gathering up her skirts 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR. 295 


tripped down the rude steps cut in the rock to the 
beach, and made her way quickly around the little 
cove to her mother’s door. 

Gathered about the entrance was a little group of 
fishermen talking in low tones, who at her approach 
hastened in some precipitation to make way, and 
gazed after her with muttered comments of curiosity 
and interest. 

She stopped upon the threshold of the little cabin 
and looked about with a hesitating air. 

It was a gloomy interior. The walls and ceiling, 
blackened with the smoke and soot of a generation, 
gave a sombre look to the little living-room, which 
was dimly lighted by two small windows. Other¬ 
wise, it had an air of decency; the rough floor had 
been scrubbed to cleanliness, the fireplace filled with 
hemlock boughs, and a sheet pinned across the lower 
end of the room, hiding the little flock-bed and a 
litter of utensils which had been hastily thrust aside. 
Chairs of divers patterns had been brought in from 
the neighbors’; a table stood against the wall, covered 
with a coarse white cloth, and furnished with jugs of 
beer and cider, bread and cheese, salted beef, and 
seed-cakes. 

Over against the pinned-up sheet stood the coffin 
on a rude trestle. A woman sat near, fanning away 
the swarming flies with a bough. Other women 
stood about the room. 

Oblivious of the humanity, — the staring women, 
and the men peering in through the door, — Agnes 
threw herself on her knees beside the coffin, and laid 
her head on the dead man’s bosom. 


296 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


After a space she rose, and gazed intently down 
upon the still face, — an honest face enough, in which 
there was no evil, nor much of good either, the sor¬ 
did lines telling merely of small interests and dull 
intelligence. The soul gone forth had, it would 
seem, never been half kindled in the man; and so, 
after glimmering and smouldering for half a century, 
had flickered out from inanition. 

Some vague impression of this came to Agnes as 
she stood with ripened intelligence studying the face 
she had once thought so wise and strong; and as if 
with a sudden pang at the unfilial thought, she 
stooped and tenderly kissed the rough hands, — 
hands which death itself had failed to whiten, with 
their begrimed nails and scars and stains of toil. 

Thus she stood, unconscious of anything in the 
room but the Silent Presence before her. The women 
gathered in a group, whispered, and looked askance. 
Her air of distinction, her rich dress, her white, 
jewelled hands, her silent grief, left no doubt of her 
identity. Word was soon passed to Goody Surriage, 
who came hurrying from the small bedroom where 
she was seated with her children. 

“ Oh, Ag, Ag! are ye come home ? Oi feared ye 
moight n’t get wor-rd. Oi ha’ been waitin’ ’n’ longin’ 
fur ye. Oh, my choild, my poor choild! ye ha’ nq 
for-rther now! He’s gone, Ag; we’ll ha’ him no 
more. He talked o’ ye, Ag, — often ’n’ often he talked 
o’ ye. An he could but know ye ha’ come home to 
us an’ are lookin’ down on him now! But he cannot 
see, poor dear! he ’ll never-r see nor hear-r us agin, 
never-r! never-r! never-r! Oh, Ag, Ag! my her-rt is 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR . 297 


broke wi’ sorrow! A good mon he was, so koind V 
peaceable ; ther’ wor never-r a koinder. An oi could 
but ha’ him back a minute’s toime to say oi’m sorry 
fur a’ th’ hor-rd wor-rds oi ha’ given him ; but they 
wor not mony o’ late. Forther-r in Heaven, forgi’ 
us ; we ha’ wor-rnin’ by this to bridle our tongues an’ 
leave the choidin’ to Thysel’! ” 

At this moment there was a little bustle outside, 
and the minister entered, followed directly by the 
fishermen, nearly filling the little room. 

“ Sh! her’ be the minister-r, Ag! Good-day, sir-r; 
this be my choild, my own choild, sir-r, though ye’d 
never-r believe’t, come home to—to her poor for-rther’s 
berryin’,” with a loud burst of sobs. 

Agnes courtesied with reverence, and dropped her 
eyes before the austere gaze of the preacher. 

One of the women came and whispered in his ear. 
Presently he took a Bible from his pocket and cleared 
his throat as if to begin the service, when directly 
Goody Surriage precipitated herself with loud sobs 
upon the coffin. 

“ Oh, Ed, Ed! they’re makin’ ready to take ye away 
fro’ me. Look up! Open yer oi ’n’ look up at me, 
mon!’t is the last chance — See him now! He can¬ 
not be dead, sure, wi’ that look loike a choild that 
has fallen asleep. Ed, Ed! will ye not speak to me 
when my her’rt is breakin’ ? ” 

Led away by Agnes and one of the neighbors into 
the other room, the poor dame broke forth into a fresh 
fit of sobbing which quite drowned the preacher’s 
voice. 

After the service the whole company proceeded on 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


foot to the old burying-ground upon the hill, — the 
fishermen reverently bearing the body of their late 
comrade, and all looking on while the shallow grave 
was filled and the sexton pounded snugly into place 
the covering of green sods. 

Coming home in the fast-fading twilight, they found 
the table spread for supper, the windows thrown open, 
flowers placed about, and every effort made to give a 
look of cheer to the little cabin. 

Agnes sat upon the bench outside the door, and the 
sobbing dame, drying her eyes, bustled about, return¬ 
ing things borrowed for the funeral, thanking her 
neighbors for their kind offices, and now and then 
bringing forth some reluctant fishwife to Agnes, 
with, — 

“ Her’ ’s Goody Tibbets, Ag,”— or Goody Cooper, 
or Goody Hubbard, — “ old acquaintance they be ; 
they mind ye when ye wor a little hussy.” 

The women, though gazing upon Agnes as if from 
irresistible fascination, seemed inclined to hold no 
converse with her, and were uneasy to be gone. With 
her brothers and sisters she made no better headway. 
They were so much in awe of her, and so uncomfort¬ 
able at her overtures, that at last she was fain to 
desist. Supper over, the last of the neighbors with¬ 
drew, and the rest of the family presently retired, leav¬ 
ing Agnes alone with her mother. They sat together 
upon the bench outside the door. It had been the 
dead man’s favorite seat. The recollection of this 
brought on a fresh accession of grief from the dame, 
who now, secure of a sympathetic listener, poured 
forth a history of her husband’s illness, and, continu- 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE HARBOR. 299 


ing backwards, of all her own trials and sufferings 
since they had last met. Recurring at length to her 
present destitute condition, deprived of her husband 
and getting too old to work, she excited her own 
sympathies to such a degree that she wept herself 
asleep upon Agnes’s shoulder. 

Disengaging herself after a space from her heavy 
burden, Agnes brought a shawl to cover the sleeping 
woman, and stole gently away. The moon had risen, 
and the sea shone like silver beneath its rays. Save 
for the splashing of the waves upon the beach, or the 
echoing footsteps of the sentinel making his solitary 
round at the fort above, deep silence brooded over 
the little cove. 

Agnes paced back and forth upon the sands; it 
was like returning in a dream to the long-lost life of 
childhood. By and by she climbed the rocks and 
passed before the little inn. Quaint and pretty it 
looked in its midnight guise, all its shabbiness sil¬ 
vered over by the cheating moon. Pausing at the 
well, she looked down into its black depths and 
waked the slumbering pool with a falling pebble. 
Wandering on, she mounted again to the old church¬ 
yard, and threaded her way in and out among the 
crowded mounds to the hoar willow by Goody Latti- 
more’s grave, where she had so often sat with Job. 
There, too vividly perhaps, came back to her thoughts 
of the sturdy loyalty and devotion of him now wan¬ 
dering, she knew not where, upon the wide ocean or 
in foreign lands; for she started up with a sudden 
groan, and walked back and forth with hands pressed 
to her bosom. Moved by a sudden impulse, she 


300 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


stooped and scraped with her ring a strip of lichen 
from the hard blue headstone, and hurried away. 

Coming to her father’s grave, she threw herself 
down upon the fresh turf and gave way to tears. 
Relieved by this natural outburst, she went back 
in chastened mood to keep vigil over her sleeping 
mother. 

Next day she made more hopeful advance with her 
brothers and sisters. What with the dame’s co¬ 
operation, and her own kindly manner, she prevailed 
over their shyness to talk with her without con¬ 
straint, and confide in her as to their plans and pur¬ 
poses,— a confidence which, it is said, they never 
regretted. When it came time for her to set out 
for home, dreading perhaps to go back to the little 
inn, she sent for the coach, and started from her 
mother’s door. 

The whole business of the little world round about 
came to a standstill pending her departure. Good¬ 
man Salkins, with his cook, barmaid, and hostler, 
stared across from the doorstep of the Fountain; 
the skippers on the vessels in the cove paused in the 
management of their craft; the fishermen on the 
shore dropped their tools; the housewives peered 
forth from their cabin doors; and the children gath¬ 
ered in a gaping group about the Surriage cabin, — 
every eye intent upon the solitary figure sitting erect 
in the grand equipage, while the inconsolable dame, 
holding fast her daughter’s hand, clung to the car¬ 
riage-door and cried between her sobs: — 

“ Oh, Ag, my choild! how can oi ever-r let ye go 
fro’ me? Oi’ll never-r see ye agin,—never-r, never-r, 


THE VERDICT AT LITTLE IIARBOR. 301 


oi won’t. All are leavin’ me, — a’ an’ everybody. 
Ah, ye ’re my own choild, whatever comes. Oi ha’ 
brought ye into th’ war-rid, ’n’ oi ha’ given suck to 
ye, ’n’ oi ’ll not believe hor-rm o’ ye. ’T is not fur us 
poor sinfu’ creatures to judge one another-r. They 
tell str-range stories about ye, gir-rl, an’ say shame- 
fu’things; but oi’ll not believe ’em, Ag; yer old 
mother-r ’ll never-r believe ’em.” 

“ They are true ! ” 

“ Eh ? ” 

“ Those shameful stories are all true ! ” 

“ Forther-r o’ Mer-rcies! ” 

“ Nothing can be said of me worse than the simple 
truth.” She brushed back the straggling gray hairs 
and laid her cheek upon her mother’s wrinkled 
forehead. 

“ Oh, Ag — Ag, ’t is not the truth ; oi ’ll not 
believe it! ” 

“ Yes, God pity and help you, my dear — dear — 
dear mother, it is the truth! ” 

“ Stop! stop! ye ’ll break my her-rt! ” 

“ I will stop. I will go away. Pray that you may 
never see me again! Think of me henceforth only 
as a shame and disgrace to you and to him we yes¬ 
terday laid to rest! ” 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


A HUNTING-PARTY, 


ONG celebrated in song and story, Frankland’s 



J —' place at Hopkinton is distinctly remembered 
by many still living. Imagination gladly yields the 
rein to Reality in setting it forth. Let no latter-day 
visitor, however, who would not be grievously dis¬ 
appointed, seek to realize for himself the charm of 
the following picture, drawn by one familiar with 
the place before fire and decay had wrought their 
devastating work: — 

“ The tract lies along the southern and western slope of a 
noble eminence called in the Nipmuck tongue Magunco , or 
1 the place of the great trees,’ where the celebrated John Eliot 
had in earlier times an Indian church. The summit of the 
hill, now covered with a fine growth of thrifty chestnut, 
commands a view of the peak of the Wachusett and Monad- 
nock mountains on the northwest; of the beautiful village of 
Hopkinton and Hayden Row on the southwest; of a rich 
and varied landscape on the south ; and of the charming vil¬ 
lage of Ashland in the valley where the Concord River and 
the Cold Springs blend their waters in the east. The hill¬ 
side to the south and west abounds in cool and gushing 
springlets, which, leaving lines of freshest verdure in their 
course, unite and form a brook well stored with trout, and 


A HUNTING-PARTY. 


303 


large enough to turn a mill; and which, sweeping round the 
southeastern base of Magunco, passes through a pleasant 
valley into the Cold Spring stream. 

“ On an eligible and commanding site upon the south¬ 
western inclination of this Indian hill the baronet erected a 
commodious manor-house; reduced about one hundred and 
thirty acres of his land to tillage; planted an extensive 
orchard; built a costly barn one hundred feet in length and 
surmounted by a cupola, a granary, which was set upon 
elaborately wrought freestone pillars, and houses for his ser¬ 
vants, which were equal to those of many of the farmers 
in the neighborhood. Having a taste for horticulture, he 
introduced a great variety of the choicest fruit, such as 
apples, pears, plums, peaches of excellent quality, apricots 
and quinces from England; and having an eye for beauty, 
he set out elms and other ornamental trees upon his grounds, 
and embellished his walks and garden with the box, the 
lilac, hawthorn, and the rose ; some portion of this shrubbery 
still blooms as beautifully as when George II. sat upon thf 
throne. 

“ The mansion was large and strongly built. It stood at 
some distance from the main road, and was approached by 
a noble avenue cut through the chestnut forest and by a 
flower-garden tastefully arranged in front. The spacious 
hall, sustained by fluted columns, was hung with tapestry 
richly ornamented with dark figures on a ground of deepest 
green, — according to the fashion of the times. The chim¬ 
ney-pieces were of Italian marble, and cornices of stucco¬ 
work and other costly finishing embellished the parlor, 
ante-rooms, and chambers. 

“ The grounds immediately around the house were 
formed into terraces by the hands of slaves, and the waters 
from the living springs above clothed them in liveliest 
verdure.’* 


304 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


As may be believed, time was needed to set up 
such an establishment so far from town. There 
was brain-work and hand-work enough and to spare 
for both the busy builders; and in thus watch¬ 
ing its slow growth from stage to stage, a feeling 
of ownership was naturally enough engendered, so 
that when at last Agnes stepped into the com¬ 
pleted house, it was like a bird settling into its nest 
with the true sense of belonging which inheres in a 
home. 

So insensibly, moreover, the bustle of preparation 
subsided into the routine of life that the opportunity 
which there is reason to believe she awaited for en¬ 
tering upon a season of self-examination and penance 
seemed never to arrive. Life blossomed about her 
in fulness of beauty ; an atmosphere of luxury shut 
out all sordid reminders of toil and care. A spirit 
of peace, bequeathed as it were by the old Indian 
apostle, pervaded the sacred hill and far-stretching 
valley. Nature was her only neighbor; and Nature, 
far from making her reproaches, welcomed her with 
largest sympathy. The sky arched tenderly and mys¬ 
teriously above her, the sun every morning lighted 
up anew the outspread panorama, the wind brought 
the perfume of the fields and the thousand-voiced 
anthem of the forest to gladden every sense, while 
love, tender, steadfast, and devoted, crowned the 
whole. 

Thus, hedged about with every favoring circum¬ 
stance, doubt and misgiving gained no admission to 
her mind. By degrees, too, despite some futile prob¬ 
ing, a certain numb pain within dwindled to a vague 


A HUNTING-PARTY. 


305 


unrest, which however, though often put to flight, 
still persistently returned to haunt the heart where 
it late held sway. 

These moments of pensiveness were not unnoted 
by Frankland. 

“What are you thinking of, my dear?” catching 
her one day in such a mood. 

She looked detected and stammered in reply, — 

“ Of — why, nothing of moment.” 

“ Nay, but of what ? ” 

“ To what purpose repeat such random thoughts ? ” 

“But if I am concerned to know?” somewhat 
piqued. 

“ How should you be concerned ? ” 

“ As I must needs be by everything that affects 
your happiness ; there was sadness in your look. 
Confess it — come, you shall not escape me ! ” 

“I — I was thinking,” in some confusion, “I ought 
not— ’t is wicked in me to be so happy ! ” 

“ Ay, I mistrusted some such folly, and I will 
tell you the secret of it: ’t is that you have not enough 
to do. When we were busy ordering our household 
you had no time for the like whimsies. Now, my 
dear, I will propose a cure.” 

She looked at him with an air of suspense. 

“We will have a party ; ’tis time I had my friends 
down from town. They are curious about the planta¬ 
tion, and I have constant upbraidings for my niggard 
hospitality.” 

“ But—• ” with a look of dismay. 

“Eh?” 

“I — I—” 


20 


306 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“You would not have them ? ” 

“ Why, yes, — only I shall be at a loss how to be* 
have with so many gentlemen.” 

“ If you have not a mind, they shall not come.” 

“ Yes, yes ; but I have ; they shall come ; I would 
rather have them. Pardon me, ’t was but a passing 
consternation.” 

“ But that I know’t will be best for you, I would 
not press the point; but these will be men of wit 
and understanding,—none of those fools from yonder 
Saints’ Rest.” 

“ If they be your friends, dear sir, they shall be 
welcome.” 

“ They shall be your friends, and welcome for 
their own sakes, I promise you, before any long ac¬ 
quaintance. Wait a bit — let us see!” — drawing 
forth a pocket-tablet and writing the names as he 
talked, — “ there will be, Brinley, Lyde, Cradock, 
are three; Sheafe, four; Auchmuty and Overing, 
six; and ourselves, eight, — two tables of whist for 
the evenings.” 

“ Oh, but find, I beg, some other man to make up 
the whist! I shall be ill at ease among such an array 
of masculines! ” 

“ Very well, then, let us have over the Commissary; 
they are all old friends, and have not met, I’m sure, 
since he came home from England.” 

And so it was concluded; the invitations were sent 
and eagerly accepted, and Sir Harry’s hunting-party 
was in a small way the talk of the town. 

Agnes received her guests with quiet dignity, yet 
with a particularity of manner which was significant: 


A HUNTING-PARTY . 


307 


a certain neutral look, that is, which she bent upon 
each as he was presented, and a little delay in her 
salute as if leaving it to the stranger to strike the 
key-note of their after intercourse, whether of cor¬ 
diality or reserve. One would think she could not 
have been left long in doubt upon this occasion. 

44 Madam, I am most honored with your acquaint¬ 
ance.” 

“ A privilege I have long craved.” 

44 Report does but small justice, after all, to such 
perfections,” with a supplemental stare of admiration. 

44 Count another, madam, from this day, in the 
number of your ardent admirers ! ” 

44 Ah, Sir Harry, sly dog that you are, to hide such 
a paragon down here in the wilderness! ” 

“The one charm, madam, lacking to complete this 
place a paradise, is here, I find, supplied,” pressing 
her hand. 

Agnes listened with an air of endurance, not very 
appreciative, it seemed, of such very handsome com¬ 
pliments, and afterwards was with difficulty persuaded 
to make one at the hunt. 

The hunt was successful, and lasted several days, 
during which the depths of the forest where aforetime 
old Pomaham led his band of praying Indians rang 
with the baying of the dogs and the sharp crack of 
the sportsman’s gun. 

But a sudden storm put an end to the sport. The 
merry gentlemen got up one morning to find them¬ 
selves prisoners. Ruefully enough they looked from 
the windows upon the vista of dripping trees, the 
avenue washed into gullies, the water-spouts spurting 


308 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


streams at every corner, the dejected poultry huddled 
beneath the shed, and the weather-vane pointing per¬ 
sistently east. 

Thereupon the indoor resources of the establish¬ 
ment were called into play. Agnes engaged the 
Commissary in a game of backgammon, while Frank- 
land took away the more volatile spirits to the barn, 
where with the big doors opened to the south they 
pitched quoits and had jumping-matches, talked 
politics and real estate, and between times lolled 
upon the hay listening to the roar of the rain upon 
the roof, the stamping of the horses, the cooing of 
the pigeons in the loft, and the grunting of the pigs 
in the cellar, — a rural concert curious and novel to 
town-bred ears. 

In the afternoon came an unexpected diversion. 
As the gentlemen sat over their wine after dinner, a 
wagon drove up with a heavy box which two slaves 
presently came dragging into the hall. 

“ A hammer and chisel, there, quick, and off with 
*he cover! ” said Frankland, coming out. Then, 
before his order could be executed, suspecting the 
contents: “ Bravo! here you are, gentlemen! Agnes, 
iove! ” 

The company came trooping from the dining-room 
and Agnes from the harpsichord. 

“ An invoice of books from London! Come ! every 
one shall have a finger in the pie of unpacking! ” 

All gathered eagerly about as their busy host tore 
*way the heavy wrapping-paper and passed out to 
the right and left the upper layer of books. 

“What have we to begin with?” stripping the 


A HUNTING-PARTY. 


309 


cover from one in his hand. ‘“Essay on Criti¬ 
cism.’ ” 

“ 4 Dunciad.’ ” 

‘“The Iliad.’” 

“ ‘ Rape of the Lock.’ ” 

“Ay, to be sure, the new Pope, Warburton’s edi¬ 
tion. Here are more ; there should be nine volumes. 
’T is but just out, and has set everybody to reading 
the great Alexander.” 

“ Yes,” spoke up the Commissary; “ I came away 
from London in the full tide of it.” 

“ But ’t is said the enthusiasm is quite extraordi¬ 
nary,— far greater, indeed, than when the little man 
was alive.” 

“Naturally enough, too; ’tis the first time his 
works have been presented as a whole.” 

“ ’T were a pity, indeed,” put in Auchmuty, “ if he 
should be forgotten before he is cold in the grave ! ” 

“Cold, sir! ” from a memory fiend; “he is nearly 
ten years dead.” 

“ ‘ Ten years ’! and what is that but a wag of the 
historical pendulum ? ” returned Auchmuty, standing 
by his point. “ His fame should properly be on the 
rise ; there was never one lived like him, nor ever 
will be another so crammed with genius.” 

“ Poh, sir! Who knows what the future may 
bring?” said some doubter. 

“ Let it produce the greatest prodigy, yet he can¬ 
not go beyond Pope in wit and elegance.” 

“ No, nor in profundity of thought.” 

“ Nor felicity of diction.” 

“Nor music of numbers.” 


310 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


44 Nor brilliancy of antithesis.” 

The chorus of voices was unanimous, and the 
Commissary summed up: — 

“No, he must ever remain the great master of 
English verse.” 

Whereupon there was such a murmur of assent and 
general wagging of heads as silenced the doubter. 

“ What next, gentlemen ? ” said Fraukland, pass¬ 
ing out more books. 

444 Cato.’ ” 

“ Yes; and that,” turning about with an air of irri¬ 
tation, 44 is to complete my set of Addison, broken, 
mark you, by some wretch of a borrower who has 
the hardihood to keep a volume with my book-plate 
on the cover. What have you, Sheafe ? ” 

44 Steele.” 

44 1 warrant you. That designing bookseller prac¬ 
tises upon my weakness for Bickerstaff, and will be 
always slipping in something of Sir Richard’s. What 
is it now! ” 

44 4 The Tender Husband ’ and 4 The Conscious 
Lovers.’ ” 

44 Bound in one ? Take it home, with my compli¬ 
ments; I have them both on the shelf. Eh, Brinley ? ” 

44 4 Tom Jones’!” 

44 Never! Bravo ! ’t has come then, at last. That 
book is several years out, and I give you my word 
this is the first time I have been able to lay clutch 
on it.” 

44 ’T is clever,” said the Commissary, in a tone im¬ 
plying reserves. 

44 1 believe you, indeed. ’Tis held by the best 


A HUNTING-PARTY . 


311 


judges in England a masterpiece, and that nothing 
has ever been produced in that vein in the least 
degree approaching it.” 

“ Always excepting ‘ Clarissa Harlowe,’ ” said a 
voice from behind. 

“ Right, Mr. Cradock; Richardson stands at the 
head.” 

Auchmuty’s dogmatism brought Frankland out of 
the box to debate the point. 

“ Richardson! Why, to be sure, Richardson has 
parts, but he plainly falls short of genius. His vein 
of wit is tenuous to begin with, and you must allow 
he spins it out to prodigious fineness. Then his 
divine Clarissa tires you out with her eternal 
preaching.” 

“Egad ! Sir Harry,”—from a bibulous voice at his 
side, — “I suspect you rather of sympathizing with 
Lovelace.” 

Arch glances were exchanged between several of 
the gentlemen. 

“ But,” continued the convivial gentleman, noting 
the effect of his sally, “having yourself been more 
successful than Richardson’s hero — ” 

“ Sh!” 

“Silence, sir!” in an undertone, from the Com¬ 
missary. 

Frankland bit his lip and glanced anxiously at 
Agnes. 

She made no pretence of unconsciousness, but 
wore the look of calm endurance before described. 

“’Tis not a matter of wit alone, sir,” went on 
Auchmuty, intent on his point, and quite blind to the 


312 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


fact that he had passed over a social whirlpool; 
“ there is his great ingenuity, his grace of style, and 
the justness of his characters and scenes. There is 
his pathos, too — ” 

“Ah, I grant you the pathos,” said Frankland, 
still anxiously regarding Agnes ; “ there is one of 
my family who has nearly wept herself blind over 4 Pa¬ 
mela,’ which yet she will never have done reading.” 

Agnes neglecting to enter the discussion by the 
door so adroitly held open for her, the Commissary 
sententiously came to the rescue. 

44 And nothing could more strongly attest her taste 
and discrimination, sir ! ” 

44 For an antidote, I have read her 4 Joseph An¬ 
drews,’ which, you know, was writ as a satire upon 
4 Pamela; ’ but all to no purpose. I promise myself 
now to win her over with 4 Tom Jones ; ’ for if that 
be, as’t is said, better than the former book, ’t is not 
in the human heart to resist it.” 

44 Who is Hume ? ” asked some one, helping him¬ 
self from the box. 

44 A Scotsman lately come into notice for some 
bold opinions,” answered Frankland, returning to 
his task. 

44 ’T is amazing what a stir one may create by the 
expression of a little doubt and blasphemy! ” sneered,', 
the Commissary. 44 What name does he give to hisi 
rubbish?” 

44 4 An Inquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals.’” 

Overing hereupon slyly whispered something in 
Brinley’s ear, at which they both laughed without 
disguise. 


A HUNTING-PARTY , 


31S 


“Nay, gentlemen; no shots in the back,” said 
Frankland, from the box. “ ’T is not hard to see 
your drift. Here, Auchmuty, is another in the same 
vein from Voltaire,—the book he writ upon us, as 
you know, after his sojourn in England.” 

“ 4 Lettres Philosophiques,’ ” said Auchmuty, scan¬ 
ning the titlepage. 

“ Do not waste your time on that scurvy infidel,” 
broke in the Commissary, hotly, “ who has been cast 
out of his own country and is wandering over the 
face of the earth in search of an asylum ! Even the 
King of Prussia, who is more than half barbarian 
himself, could not tolerate the dirty little toad of a 
Frenchman ! ” 

Winking at those nearest him to let this pass, 
Frankland handed over the book without further 
comment, and dived again into the box. 

“ Aha, gentlemen! the greatest treat left to the 
last, as is fitting! Here, in a package by them¬ 
selves, are the very latest books of the day. I 
charged him to send all which were for any reason 
the talk of the town. Here, then, is what they are 
living on at the London clubs and drawing-rooms; 
help yourselves, then, — first come, first served.” 

There was a general scramble upon this invitation, 
at which Frankland stood by laughing. 

“Here,” he said, “I have a letter from Walpole, 
which tells the verdict of the wits and pundits at 
home.” 

“ 4 Amelia/ ” 

“Harry Fielding’s latest Ah, lucky dog that I 
am, to have two of his books unread! — a feast for 


314 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the gods! Though, ’t is said, this is a great falling 
off from 4 Tom Jones.* What if it be ? Homer 
nods. A man can’t be always at his best; and at his 
worst, Fielding must needs be infinitely diverting.” 

“ Tell me, now,” said Lyde, holding up a book 
44 who is the author of this, that he dared not sign 
his name, — 4 The Rambler * ? ” 

“I know nothing but that his name is Johnson,— 
a big, clumsy bumpkin, one of the Grub Street crew, 
who lives upon his wits.” 

44 He is held in great esteem among the clergy,” 
spoke up the Commissary, 44 for his extraordinary 
learning and great abilities.” 

“ He has need of them, to follow in the wake of 
the 4 Spectator ’ and the ‘ Idler ’ with his trumpery 
4 Rambler/ ” said some one, upon the safe general 
principle of crying down a new candidate for favor. 

44 ‘ Peregrine Pickle/ What have you to say 
to that, in the list of your judgments?” asked 
Cradock. 

“ Why, ’t is thought to carry the author’s repu¬ 
tation beyond ‘ Roderick Random ; ’ but here* gen¬ 
tlemen,” opening a book in his own hand, “ is, I am 
assured, the prime favorite of the hour; the book 
with which all London is at this moment ringing, — 
4 Sir Charles Grandison.’ Here, you champions of 
Richardson; you shall fight for it among your¬ 
selves ! ” 

So many new books procured a quiet evening. 
With literary appetites whetted to keenness by 
wholesome abstinence, the company sat down and 
gloated over this unexpected feast. 


A HUNTING-PARTY . 


315 


Next morning dawned clear and bright, and the 
party broke up, the gentlemen taking their leave 
with many elaborately turned compliments and ex¬ 
pressions of regret. 

Agnes came to the door to see them off. The 
coach drove thundering down the avenue and out 
upon the turnpike amid shouts and huzzas, Frank- 
land vigorously waving his hat. 

“ See, see ! They are all waving to you ! ” 

Agnes courtesied mechanically, her eyes fixed in 
another direction. 

“Well, my dear, it has been a famous rout, and 
very successful in the main,” sitting down at her 
feet in the doorway. 

She nodded assent. 

“ I hope you are now cured of your dread of a 
party.” 

“ I hope so, indeed.” 

“You made a great impression, I assure you I They 
were one and all loud in your praises.” 

“ I could well have spared such laudation.” 

He looked up searchingly into her face. “ Did you 
not find them agreeable ? ” 

“ I have a sincere regard for the rector ; he has 
shown himself very friendly. For the rest, they 
seemed all to be gentlemen of much ingenuity and 
information.” 

“ And very polite to you.” 

With her eyes fixed upon the far-off coach, now 
looking like a big black fly as it crawled up a dis 
tant hill, Agnes did not answer. 

“ Eh, my dear ? ” 


816 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ They were too polite, and not polite enough.” 

“ And what may that Delphic utterance signify, 
love? I do not understand.” 

Turning away with a look pitiably dreary, she 
answered, — 

44 1 do not expect you ever will.” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 


“THE BROWN CLAIM.” 

AVING with much toil and trouble set up his 



1. A fold in the wilderness, the Rev. Mr. Price — 
commissary now no longer since the death of Bishop 
Gibson — bestirred himself with equal zeal to gather 
in his flock. 

To this end, one summer evening, he drove with 
his wife over to call on the Franklands, — so the 
household was called in the neighborhood. The 
ladies had never met; and whether good Mrs. Price 
accompanied her husband on this Christian and 
neighborly errand out of her own large charity, or 
by his procuring, it is now impossible to say. 

Agnes and Sir Harry were sitting upon the front 
porch, and saw them turn in at the gate. 

“ Who be these coming up the avenue ? ” 

There was a note of agitation in her voice which 
made Frankland turn to look. 

“ A man and woman in a chaise, as I make out,” 
squinting his eyes. 

“ ’T is a lady ! ” 

“ So it would seem.” 

“She cannot know — ” 

“ Eh, know what ? Why, ’t is the Prices coming 
to wait upon us. What now, you’re surely not 
going, love ? ” 


318 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ No,” recovering herself, and repressing an im¬ 
pulse to escape. 

Frankland hurried to welcome his guests and 
usher them into the drawing-room. Agnes kept her 
seat, and he presently came out with the announce¬ 
ment that Mrs. Price demanded to see her. She 
went in intrenched behind her neutral manner. The 
parson straightway laid waste her defences by swift 
and direct assault. 

“I want you and my wife to be close friends, 
madam; so pray you make haste and further your 
acquaintance. Out here in the wilds it behooves all 
Christians to be hand and glove.” 

Frankland looked on, keenly alive to the points of 
the situation, but with suspended admiration, as if in 
some doubt whether the parson’s effective greeting 
were due to tactics or to natural imperativeness. 

Mrs. Price, from kindly intuition, let us hope, lost 
no time in following her husband’s lead, who there¬ 
upon seized Frankland’s arm and took him aside, 
leaving the ladies together. 

“ Indeed, as my husband says, a neighbor counts 
for much in the country,” began the visitor, study¬ 
ing with undisguised curiosity a person of whom she 
had heard much. “I trust I shall acquire a good 
character for neighborliness, although I am somewhat 
late in beginning.” 

“ You are kind to say it,” said Agnes, gravely and 
without warmth. 

“ As Mr. Price was in some measure instrumental 
in bringing you hither, it is the more incumbent on 
us to do what we may to make it agreeable.” 


THE BROWN CLAIM: 


319 


“ On the contrary, the obligation seems rather to be 
apon us.” 

There was a pause, during which the visitor, as it 
proved, was casting about for a new topic. 

“ I must compliment you, madam, upon the ex¬ 
treme order in which you left everything behind 
you at our house.” 

“ I did no more, surely, than was fit and becoming. 
I hope you expected nothing less.” 

“ But with the double labor of getting settled here 
in your own house — ” 

“ This ? Oh, I assure you it was rather diversion ; 
our thoughts were so engaged we counted the work 
as nothing.” 

“ I fear — that is — you — I would say — ” 

“ Pardon! ” 

“ ’T is very fine weather we’ve been having.” 

“ Yes, barring the storm of the past week.” 

“ To be sure it — I had forgotten the rain — You 
must needs find it very tame here after Boston ? ” 

The good lady was pulling hard in the conversa¬ 
tional harness. 

“ So far, not at all.” 

“ But do you not greatly miss the society of town ? ” 

“ I had no society there, madam.” 

“ Oh, indeed ! ” 

Such merciless candor, intolerant of any gloze or 
compromise, was most hard to deal with; the good 
woman struggled on, however. 

“ The people here, I am sure, you must have found 
friendly enough.” 

“ I could not wish for better treatment.” 


320 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ No, no, I am assured of it; the danger among 
so few is of too frequent visits.” 

“ I have so far escaped that danger.” 

u ’Tis because you are so remote.” 

“ Yes, here we are withdrawn ; but at your house 
where most of my time has been spent — ” 

“ Ah! there you found the visitations frequent 
enough, I ’ll be bound.” 

“ Not altogether burdensome ; to be frank with 
you, madam,” — discarding suddenly her ironical 
tone, — “ this present honor I am receiving at your 
hands is my first experience of the like ceremony 
since coming to the country.” 

“Oh! ah ! — why — indeed, I am amazed — Per¬ 
haps ’t is that you do not— We never see you at 
church.” The disconcerted visitor clutched at any 
available straw. 

“ Yes, yes ; how is that ? ” from Mr. Price himself, 
returning to the room. His wife looked up quickly, 
but had the address to repress a sigh of relief. 

“ I have too small a flock here not to miss even a 
single ewe.” 

“ ’T is a weary way to go to hear an indifferent 
discourse,” said Frankland, from behind, dexterously 
drawing the fire upon himself. 

“ That, sir, will not excuse you; you can at least 
take part in the service, and sleep through the ser¬ 
mon, as I make no doubt you do. But,” turning to 
Agnes, “ how is it we do not see you, madam ? ” 

Agnes looked the questioner very calmly in the 
face, and replied with a significancy of manner which 
atoned for the literal prevarication: — 


“ THE BROWN CLAIM. 


321 


“ I have thought the intrusion of strangers among 
your little flock might not be altogether welcome, 
sir.” 

“‘ Strangers! ’ poh! we will hear no more of that. 
‘ Strangers! ’ we ’ll have no such word here. You shall 
meet; you shall know each other. Come, now, we 
will have a party! I will have you all at my house. 
What say you to Monday night ? ” 

Agnes hesitated and looked uneasy. 

444 Monday night ’ — ” Frankland began evasively. 

“Nay, sir, you shall gain nothing by excuses,” 
went on the energetic clergyman. 44 No matter for 
the time, one is as good as another, the first vacant 
night, whenever it be — Let us say Monday week?” 

44 Since there is no escape, we will come with great 
pleasure,” said Frankland, laughing, but casting a 
doubtful glance at Agnes. 

Satisfied with this assurance, the visitors presently 
went away. 

44 ’T was very well meant of them, — this civility,” 
said Frankland, in a sounding manner. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Mrs. Price is a fine woman.” 

“ She is most kindly, I am sure.” 

44 Yet you treated her with scant courtesy, my 
dear.” 

44 My act, then, ill answered to my intent, which 
Was the most absolute civility.” 

44 But quite without warmth.” 

44 Because I am persuaded she was best pleased I 
should keep a distance, and would have been greatly 
disconcerted at my approach.” 


322 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ ’T was your fancy.” 

“No, poor woman! ’tis plain enough she was 
dragged hither; but I give her great credit, none 
the less.” 

“ But what about the party ? ” 

“ We will go.” 

Frankland naturally looked surprised at this an¬ 
swer, so prompt, so quiet, and so utterly unexpected. 

“But they may be rude,” he suggested, as if 
sifting for reasons. 

“ And if they be, God still lives. He will forgive 
them so slight a trespass.” 

She picked up a newspaper from the table and 
looked over it listlessly, Frankland pondering her 
odd answer. Something in the paper presently ar¬ 
rested her attention, and she asked abruptly in quite 
another voice, — 

“ Do you take count of all the vessels that sail 
from Boston ? ” 

“ In numbers you mean ? ” 

“No; but do you see them, go aboard of them, 
know them, as it were ? ” 

“ No, indeed, child ; not a tithe.” 

“ And do you not hear their names ? ” 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ And if you heard a name a good many times you,* 
mayhap would remember it.” 

“ Ye-es,”—yawning — “ the old stagers, those con¬ 
stantly plying back and forth, no doubt I must.” 

Casting down the paper and idly taking a flower 
from a little jug near at hand, she slowly pulled it to 
pieces. 


“THE BROWN CLAIM: 


328 


“Did you never — among those vessels do you 
remember a ship called — ” 

“ Umph! ” 

“‘The Pathfinder ’ ? ” 

The pause, the hesitation, and a little change of tone 
challenged his attention. 

“ No-o-o; yet stay, it seems I do have a vague 
remembrance of such a name.” 

“ But know not, I suppose, since your memory of 
the ship is so uncertain, whether she still trades to — 
Can you say to what port she sails?” 

“ Easily enough by my books; by my memory not 
at all” 

Throwing away the dismantled flower-stalk, she 
took up the newspaper again, turning it over and 
rustling it about without purpose. 

“ Would it come to your knowledge if there were 
any change — that is, any mishap to the crew?” 

“ No.” 

“ How long does it take a vessel to go to Portugal 
and back?” 

“ ’T is quite impossible to say.” 

She looked up in some surprise. 

“ It depends on too many conditions; to wit, what 
luck they have in weather, what luck again in getting 
rid of their cargo and shipping another. Why do 
,you ask?” 

“ Because I think that ship went to Portugal.” 

“ ‘ The Pathfinder ’ ? ” 

“ Yes; and I was wondering how long before she 
would come back.” 

“ When did she go V' 


824 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ ’T is a year and more ago.” 

“ She may have come and gone again by this.” 

“ I would like much to know when she is next in 
port.” 

“And why have you an interest so particular in 
that ship? ” 

“ I knew one on board, of whom lately I chanced 
to think: an old friend and playmate he was from 
Marblehead.” 

“ * Marblehead.’ Ah, well thought on ; thanks for 
the reminder! I have a letter for you ; pardon my 
neglect; the Prices’ visit put it out of my mind.” 

He drew from his pocket and handed her the fol¬ 
lowing letter from Goody Surriage: — 

Dere Ag, — i ha been low in Mind since seein’ ye. God 
in his Goodnis is plesed hevily to Visit an’ afflick me. the 
Minister ses pray for to be resined to his Will, un i hop so 
to do; but ’tis hord, Ag, to loose yer Forther un here such like 
Stories o’ ye un from yer own Lips made good; but whatever 
cum, yer my own Child, un i pray for ye un want to see ye. 
O Ag, i am like a Pellicon in the Wildernis the Minister 
reads o’ out o’ the holy Book, left alone to mone un grone. 
un mor things i ha to bare, wat am i to do for my Bread, 
not to menshun the Roomatics has laid hoult on me ? ’t is a sad 
Wurld, un wer all pore Sinners, God help us! but for all is 
said un for all is done, yer my own Child, Ag, un" dere to my 
Hart, un will allers be. but wat i ha’ to say, Ag, ther’s one here 
tells me, un the Minister is of the same Mind, ther’s some¬ 
thin’ in the Brown Clame Grondfother bot of the Savages, as 
ye know; un pore as i am ther may be a Forchun for me, 
for as Goody Lippett ses, an’ she is writin’ this for me, ther’s 
the Lond, un ther it must stay, un’ the biggest Villun of em 
all, Savage or White, could not take it away; un its down in 


THE BROWN CLAIM: 


325 


the Papers black un white a Part belongs to me, but i cant 
eat it, nor drink dry earth, nor ware it on my Back ; un so 
wat am i better off, tell me thet. remember me to all in¬ 
quirers. from yer suffrin’ un Hart-broken Mother, 

Mary Surrige. 

“I must go thither at once,” said Agnes, starting 
up. 

“ Is anything wrong ? ” 

“ My mother is sick; she is poor and forlorn. ’Tis 
a shame to me to neglect her! Read for yourself!” 
tossing down the letter. 

“ And why did you not tell me your mother was 
in such straits?” 

“ To what end ? ” 

“ That I might help her.” 

“ She wants none of your help; she shall never 
have help from you! ” with a sudden flash of indig¬ 
nation. 

He reflected a moment, as if to explain to himself 
this outburst, and answered very quietly, with an 
evident understanding of her mood: — 

“I would not be officious, my dear, in thrusting 
myself into the matter; but let us talk about it a 
little! There may be ways in which I can be of 
service to your mother without putting upon her 
an obligation.” 

44 She would not choose to be beholden to anybody.” 

“And she need not, perhaps. Let me ask: she 
speaks in this letter of the ‘ Brown Claim,’ — what is 
that ? ” 

“ ’T is of some lands down in Pemaquid, — a vast 
tract, ’t is said, which my grandfather was one among 


326 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


others to buy of the Indians ; I put no faith in it. i 
have heard it prated of all my life, and yet it hah 
come to nothing.” 

“ She speaks of papers, here.” 

! “ Oh, ’t is all in the papers, they say, fair and clear. 

I had no skill to read them in those days; others 
have told me. And yet if it be, ’t is like treasure 
sunk in the sea, never to be come at; only my 
poor mother will be forever dreaming of a fortune 
in it.” 

“ If she has papers, they may show a legal title.” 

“ So she has, I am sure. And yet after all’t is 
but to a bone of contention; for the heirs of the 
others who bought with my grandfather have been for 
years, ’tis said, wrangling over it, which my poor 
mother only escaped by having no means to engage 
in it.” 

Making no immediate reply to this, Frankland 
picked up the dame’s letter again, and pondered it. 

“Do you purpose going thither to-morrow?” he 
asked at length. 

“ Yes, God willing.” 

“ Say to your mother, then, that if she will intrust 
me with those papers I will have the matter inquired 
into.” 

“ ’T is like you ” — bursting out impulsively — “ to 
be ever most kind when I have forgotten good man¬ 
ners and decency.” 

“ Poh, silly girl! Stay! ” as she was hurrying from 
the room. “ I will go with you to town; let us take 
an early start, so that the horses may have a com¬ 
fortable rest and bait*” 


THE BROWN CLAIM.' 


327 


“ But I ’ll take no horses farther than Boston.” 

“ How then?” 

“ Pray you devise some other way for me ! I would 
not again make a show of myself in the coach.” 

“Nothing easier; I will send you down in the 
Government boat, only you must make no long stop, 
lest I have official need of the vessel.” 

“ Be assured I will make all haste.” 

On her previous transit through Boston, Agnes 
had been too much agitated to take note of anything. 
Now she gazed about with lively interest upon the 
many changes and improvements wrought in the 
single year of her absence. Coming to the Common, 
a strange spectacle awaited them : rows of young 
women with their spinning-wheels seated along the 
mall were busy at work in the open air, while 
elderly men and matrons went up and down the line 
to give them countenance and keep at a distance the 
good-natured and gaping crowd. 

“ What is this ? ” 

Frankland laughed at Agnes’s look of astonishment. 

“ You have not read your newspaper, my dear; 
this is the latest lunacy out of Bedlam; ’t is * the 
spinning craze.’ ” 

“ And why have they come forth so publicly, — is 
it a penance ? ” 

“ Never a bit! else they had never come. ’Tis the 
fashion, my dear; ’t is to encourage industry and 
thrift; these are daughters of our most substantial 
citizens, come forth here to give an example to the 
meaner sort.” 

“ But what a trial to demand of them I ’* 


828 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


“Yet ’tis said they undergo it with surprising 
cheerfulness. One might almost suspect the pretty 
minxes of enjoying it. Note the frills on their 
aprons, and the daintiness of their tuckers, and their 
profound ignorance of the swains staring close at 
hand. But come, I must take you away, lest you 
join the ranks to-morrow.” 

Agnes arrived at Marblehead early in the after¬ 
noon. Intent upon her errand, she took the nearest 
way from the wharf to her mother’s cabin. Coming, 
at a street-crossing, upon a group of boys engaged 
in pitching pennies, she quietly skirted the crowd, 
and was about to pass on, scarce heeding their pres¬ 
ence. Unhappily she was recognized by one of the 
number who had seen her at the funeral. 

“ Ther’ go old Surrige’s gal! ” he shouted, pointing 
after her. “ She thet run away wi’ th’ lor-rd. She’s 
a wicked one; she be in wi’ the Devil, they say. See 
her! ther’ she goes. Th’ lor-rd ha’ sent her home 
a-foot. Wher’ be her gr-rond coach gone ? Th’ 
lor-rd ha’ tur-rned her off, ’n’ sent her home a-foot.” 

Only too easily aroused to mischief, the whole troop 
came shouting and hallooing after her. 

“ Look out, ther’, she lays not her claw on ye! 
She’s a witch, they say.” 

“ A witch! a witch! ” cried the others, catching 
up the opprobrious name. 

Failing to draw any retort from the object of their 
persecution, the malicious little wretches took cour¬ 
age to press upon and hustle her as she walked. 

Hitherto affecting unconcern, Agnes was now filled 
with alarm, and looked about for aid. Full well 



THE COVE, MARBLEHEAD 







THE BROWN CLAIM 1 


329 


she knew the uselessness of appeal to her tormentors, 
whom once she would have boldly turned upon and 
with the first roadside weapon put to flight. 

“ Get back to town wi’ ye! Go back, ye witch! 
We ’ll ha’ no evil ones her’! Fling her over-r th’ 
r-rocks! Drive her into th’ sea! Yah! yah! Go, 
way, witch ! Witch ! witch ! witch ! ” 

Detecting the panic of their victim, one of the 
ringleaders flung an old shell he had picked out of 
the mire. The foul mark this left on Agnes’s beau¬ 
tiful dress filled the whole group with delight. The 
next minute a shower of missiles — stones, shells, dead 
fishes, and any convenient offal from the gutter — 
rained down upon Agnes’s head. 

Terrified now beyond control, she took to flight. 
This was the last needed incentive to the young 
ruffians at her heels. With yells of triumph, they 
pursued like a pack of bloodhounds. Luckily, Agnes 
was now close upon the cove. Winged with fear, 
she succeeded in reaching her mother’s door. Goody 
Surriage came out to discover the cause of the up¬ 
roar just as the troop caught up with her gasping 
daughter. Swifter than thought the maternal in¬ 
stinct flamed up; and forgetful of age and rheuma¬ 
tism she rushed to the rescue. 

Seizing the ringleader, who, little suspecting the 
unwasted vigor of the old fishwife’s arm, had not 
heeded her approach, she belabored him with a 
broken oar until he roared for mercy. Then, turn¬ 
ing upon the others with an energy of vituperation 
which drowned their puerile clamor, she routed aud 
drove them from the cove. 


330 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Agnes spent several hours with her mother, and 
came away at length with various projects for the 
dame’s relief in her mind, and the “ Brown Claim ” 
in her pocket. 

Arrived in town, she handed the latter to Frank- 
dand, and heard nothing of it for several days. Sit¬ 
ting at her chamber-window one afternoon, she saw 
his coach coming from town much earlier than usual. 
She hurried down just as the horses came up at a 
dead run. 

“ Something has happened ! ” 

Frankland sprang out and greeted her with affected 
composure, and indeed regarded her with a facetious 
look as he nodded in answer to her question. 

“ ’T is ill news ? ” 

“ Not entirely,” looking mysterious. 

“ What is it, then ? ” impatiently. 

“You are going to England.” 

“I ? ” 

“ Yes, and take me with you.” 

Agnes turned white, and looked at him with star¬ 
tled eyes. 

“ ’T is some one of yours ! ” 

“ No, no ; put away your fears ; ’t is nothing. I 
am called to London on business. My late uncle, it 
is discovered, was fond of making wills. He has 
Jeft an assortment behind him. He had lately mar¬ 
ried a new wife, — an imperious dame, — who took 
advantage of his dotage to procure a will in her 
favor, in which all the family estates which have 
been accumulated since the days of the great Pro¬ 
tector have been made over to this grim Worcester- 


“ THE BROWN CLAIM: 


331 


shire spinster, — as late she was. I am called home 
to try the matter in the courts.” 

44 And when are we to go? ” 

44 Directly ; a ship sails in two days. ” 

44 Then we need not go to the Commissary’s party, 
after all,” with a look of immense relief. 

Bursting out laughing at such an unexpected 
cause for congratulation, Frankland said,— 

44 Then you are glad to go ? ” 

“ Yes ; but — ” with a look of dismay, “ my 
mother! I cannot leave her.” 

44 She is provided for.” 

44 What mean you ? ” with a kindling look and 
rising color. 

44 1 have bought the 4 Brown Claim.’ ” 


CHAPTER XXIX. 


LONDON TOWN. 


RRIVED in London, after a long and stormy 



voyage, Frankland went with Agnes to his 
own house in Clarges Street, off Piccadilly, which 
chanced to be vacant. 

On the way Agnes gazed about with interest and 
wonder at the street sights, — the tall buildings, 
the strange vehicles, the gorgeous signs with their 
grotesque emblems, — puzzling her wits as to why the 
“ Fox ” should ever have been married to the “ Seven 
Stars,” the “Bell” to the “Neat’s Tongue,” the 
“Dog” to the “Gridiron,” or the “Hog” should 
have been put “in Armor.” 

Some of these oddities, Frankland explained, were 
due to perversion, which in the course of two or 
three generations had altered beyond recognition 
designs once significant and appropriate, as in the 
case of “ The Satyr and the Bacchanals,” changed 
by slow and insensible degrees into “ The Devil and 
the Bag of Nails.” Even he, however, failed to 
detect in “ The Goat and Compasses ” the sweet old 
Puritan assurance that “ God Encompasseth Us.” 

But more strange and bewildering than these, 
indeed in some cases past all comprehension to 
Agnes, were the street cries which resounded on 


LONDON TOWN. 


333 


every side and filled the air with infernal clamor: 
“ Small coal! ” “ Crab ! crab ! any crab ? ” “ Troope 
every one ! ” “ Buy my singing-glasses ! ” “ Old sat- 
ten, old taffety and velvet! ” “ Buy a fork or a fire- 
shovel ! ” “ Marking-stones! ” “ Hot baked wardens, 
hot!” “Cockles!” “ Buy a fine bow-pot!” “A dip 
and a wallop for a bawbee! ” “ Curds and whey! ” 
“ A tormentor for your fleas, ma’am! ” “ Buy my 
wash balls! ” “ Fine tie, or a fine bob, sir! ” “ Hearts, 
liver, and lights! ” “ Saloop! ” “ Delicate cowcumbers 
to pickle! ” 

“ Three-rows-a-penny pins! 

Shorts, whites, and mid-dl-ings! 99 

For the rest, Agnes was surprised to find the 
streets not much wider than at home, and far 
more dirty. Foul water stood in the kennels, giving 
forth most unsavory odors, while the unpaved thor¬ 
oughfares abounded in puddles through which saucy 
coachmen delighted to drive their ponderous wheels, 
splashing from head to foot any daintily dressed 
passer-by. Frankland accounted for the great num¬ 
ber of bootblacks and street-sweepers by reluctantly 
confessing that in fair weather the air was filled with 
clouds of dust, and in wet weather the crossings were 
almost impassable for mud. 

“ And are these the streets the stately Mr. Addi¬ 
son used to traverse and talk so much about in the 
‘Spectator’?” Agnes cried out in astonishment. 

“ The very self-same ; and much delight he found 
here, I can assure you.” 

“ But’t is more like Mr. Gay’s ‘ Trivia.’ ” 


334 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


Frankland answered only by a confident smile, as if 
privy to a latent charm lurking behind the dirt and 
confusion which could be trusted to reveal itself in 
time. 

Arrived at home, and the dust of travel shaken 
off, Frankland, with the instinct of a man of the 
world, made his first care a personal one in the mat¬ 
ter of certain little points of conformity to their 
changed surroundings. Agnes must have a new 
hoop, less flaring in front and more at the sides ; she 
must doff her old capuchin in favor of a new straw 
bonnet tied behind in her poll, with streamers down 
her back ; she must have new gowns of lustring and 
taffeta for home wear, and satin and brocade for 
grander occasions ; while he, pending the making of 
certain fine suits at the tailor’s, bought a new brown 
bob periwig, and exchanged his old-fashioned triangu¬ 
lar cocked-hat for a Kevenhiiller with a spout in front. 

Thus equipped he showed himself at White’s and 
Brookes’s, but found, to his surprise and disgust, in¬ 
stead of a throng of old friends and acquaintances, 
both places overrun with a herd of striplings, — mere 
saucy boys, as it seemed, fitter to be flogged and sent 
back to school. His own set had so nearly dis¬ 
appeared that he had much ado to find one or two 
among the crowd, and they indeed took but a lan¬ 
guid interest in renewing an old acquaintance. The 
youths, meanwhile, how they chattered and bet and 
swore ! what new tricks of dress they had, and what 
new quirks of speech! How easy the dogs were; 
withal, how occupied with themselves, and how little 
concerned with him ! 


LONDON TOWN . 


335 


He rubbed his eyes and looked about. Every¬ 
where change, and all for the worse. Where was the 
dear, the grand old England of his youth, when Wal¬ 
pole was at the head of a cabinet of noble nobodies, 
when Pulteney and Carteret and Harley and Sandys 
and the obese and venal Bubb Doddington were in 
opposition ? Where was the royal head of that op¬ 
position ? Where was the Augustan age of English 
letters,—the London of Pope and Swift, of Boling- 
broke and Chesterfield, of Gay and Lady Mary, and a 
host of lesser lights ? Where was the drama of those 
halcyon days ? What could be left to a stage which 
had lost Cibber, Quin, Anne Oldfield, and Mrs. Porter? 
Who was this ranting little revolutionist of a Scotch¬ 
man at Drury Lane, whom the striplings were raving 
about, who had set at nought all tradition and pro¬ 
priety, — he and his Irish hoyden, Mrs. Woffington ? 

Although still only thirty-seven, Frankland con¬ 
fessed to Agnes on coming home that he felt like 
Methuselah, and almost persuaded himself into con¬ 
formable gout and rheumatism. Despite, too, the 
unimpaired elegance of figure which there is good 
authority for believing he retained to the end of life, 
he felt, he said, as clumsy as a clodhopper. A cen¬ 
tury later, perhaps, he would have summed the whole 
case up in one word, and recognized with dismay that 
he had lost every vestige of his old-time chic. 

Two prime consolations, however, among many 
others, were left him. In the first place, his old 
patron and friend, the Duke of Newcastle, was at the 
head of a government recently patched together out 
of the available remnants of “the broad-bottomed 


336 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


coalition.” In the next place, it turned out that 
another of his old friends had risen to the scarcely 
less distinguished position of autocrat in the club- 
world. He discovered it quite by accident one day 
at White’s, when there took place a most unaccount¬ 
able buzzing and fluttering among the striplings 
upon the entrance of a tallish, thin man with a 
ghastly white face. 

“ The great Mr. Selwyn ! ” went the whisper. 

And so, sure enough, it was his own old acquaint¬ 
ance, George Selwyn, — fresh arrived, no doubt, from 
an execution or a charnel-house, — now grown to be 
the great wit of his day, the very prince of fine jesters, 
whom the striplings stood in such awe of that they 
were content with the crumbs that fell from his table. 
When, therefore, Frankland went and claimed ac¬ 
quaintance, and was cordially greeted, he became 
from that moment a man of mark. It was learned 
presently that he was a baronet, with a fortune in 
possession and another in expectancy ; that he had a 
snug berth in the Civil Service; and that, moreover, 
he enjoyed the rare distinction of being descended 
from the Great Protector. 

Frankland told Agnes of the meeting, and added 
in confidence, that, although gratified to find one of 
his contemporaries grown to so much consequence, 
yet to his own thinking Selwyn’s great reputation 
was due rather to a grim undertaker’s manner of 
saying things, and a trick with the whites of his eyes, 
than to supremacy of cleverness. 

From Selwyn he had news of many of his old 
friends, and was glad to hear some excuse for Horace 


LONDON TOWN. 


337 


Walpole’s neglect, for he had begun to feel sore at 
receiving no welcoming visit or word from that old 
crony. But Horry, it seems, could hardly call his 
soul his own, what with the horde of guests yonder 
in his little box at Strawberry Hill, which he had 
converted into such a marvel of taste and elegance, 
according to Selwyn, as had made it the show-place 
of all England. 

In all this time, let it be understood, Frankland 
was not neglecting his more serious interests. On 
the contrary, he had made it his first business to con¬ 
sult with his legal advisers and institute proceedings 
for the recovery of his inheritance. The belligerent 
dowager being moreover already on the spot eager 
to defend her rights, — or, more properly, conquests, 
— the fight promised to be close and bitter. 

Pending the necessary time spent in preliminaries, 
Frankland took Agnes about to see the town. They 
went for a row upon the river, where they met much 
other gay company, and, to Agnes’s indignation, were 
assailed with broad jokes, equivocal compliments, and 
coarsest raillery from passing boats; which not even 
the assurance that it was nothing more than the 
usual river license fully reconciled them to. Again, 
they went one evening to Drury Lane to see the new 
great actor in the new great tragedy of “ Barbarossa.” 
Agnes sat in one of the boxes, with crowds of dandies 
standing all about her upon the stage, obstructing the 
entrances, taking snuff, and showing off their finery. 
Suddenly out of their midst stalked, as it seemed 
straight towards her, a little figure covered with glit¬ 
tering tinsel, his big, blazing eyes fixed steadfastly 
22 


338 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


upon her. Throwing herself backward, she well- 
nigh shrieked with terror, and Frankland himself 
was so startled out of his prejudices as to mutter 
under breath, “ Egad ! ’t is wonderful! ” But the 
greatest sight was in reserve, — a masquerade at 
Ranelagh, which was as much a novelty to Frank¬ 
land as to Agnes; for the place had been built during 
his absence in America. The garden opened at three 
o’clock in the afternoon; but having been warned 
that people of fashion did not arrive until later, they 
went at six, and found themselves in a vast enclosure 
with a rotunda in the midst, surrounded by an arcade 
containing booths for tea, for bric-a-brac, and others 
still for gaming-tables. Beyond was a mimic lake, 
upon which floated an island holding a pagoda, while 
here, there, and everywhere were malls shaded by 
beautiful trees. Upon the greensward were pitched 
numerous tents, and in one part a May-pole was set 
up, about which people were dancing to a pipe and 
tabor. Bands of music in all sorts of disguises were 
placed about, one being concealed in a gondola covered 
with streamers, which rowed back and forth on the 
lake. As night fell, the trees were hung with lamps, 
and the brilliantly illuminated rotunda resounded 
with music and the shuffling tread of dancing. 

As no persuasion had availed to induce Agnes to 
put on a mask, which she stubbornly associated with 
some indefinable wickedness, they found themselves 
unpleasantly conspicuous, and, indeed, a butt for so 
many not very delicate jokes that they came away 
before midnight, although the revels, as they after¬ 
wards learned, were kept up until morning. 


LONDON TOWN. 


839 


Arrived home, they found that Mr. Walpole had 
been to visit them, and left behind him a note, in 
which, after neatly lamenting their absence, he went 
on to beg his dear Harry and Madam, his soon- (he 
hoped) to-be friend, to waive further ceremony, and 
come to dine with him upon the morrow, where they 
would find for company the great Cu and two fair 
ladies of the neighborhood. 

Upon some hint of declining from Agnes, Frank- 
land showed so much disappointment that she for¬ 
bore to press the matter, and it was decided they 
should go. 

As Twickenham lay within easy reach of the city, 
they set out at their leisure next morning in a coach 
and four, and the roads being in good condition, 
reached the house before noon. 

They were surprised to find, instead of a modern 
villa, as they had expected, something more resem¬ 
bling a little gingerbread castle, with suggestions 
of Gothic architecture in its toyish prettiness, yet 
on the whole vastly finical and without symmetry or 
consistency. Outside there was a lawn, with a grove 
and gardens, all variously embellished so that there 
remained only the sky and the expanded view 
which the busy owner had not perverted from its 
simplicity. 

Mr. Walpole happened to be walking in the gar¬ 
den when they arrived, and came promptly to re¬ 
ceive them, — a little man in a curling wig, with an 
oval forehead, a long nondescript nose, a flat upper 
lip, and a lurking look of mockery in his bright wide- 
apart eyes. He and Frankland regarded each other 


840 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


with closest interest as they rapidly exchanged the 
commonplaces of greeting. 

“ But come, come, you shall go in,” said their 
host, at last turning about and leading the way 
through a bow-window into a tiny parlor hung with 
a stone-colored Gothic paper, and some Venetian 
prints framed in a very ugly way, so that they had 
the effect of bas-reliefs. 

Pointing out the Gothic effect of the walls, the 
little enthusiast drew them beneath some gloomy 
arches into the hall, and paused with the unconscious 
air of a showman to give time for any irrepressible 
bursts of rapture. 

All was silence, however; for what they saw was 
so different from anything in their experience, that 
his visitors seemed unable to make up their minds 
on the moment. 

“ You may see how little I have to boast of, for 
this is the most particular and chief beauty of my 
castle,” — with his ear cocked for a disclaimer. 

“ Ah ! how extremely — humph ! yes, ’t is very 
fine ! ” said Frankland, in doubtful tones. 

“ Oh! nothing at all to talk of,” with overdone 
depreciation and a little shrug. 

“ And yet all the world is talking of it. I ’ve 
heard of nothing else since I arrived.” 

“ Yes, the clublings make a great chatter,” twink¬ 
ling away a look of satisfaction behind his eyelids; 
“and I will whisper you the cause of it, which is 
nothing more nor less than that public taste in this 
blessed realm is sunk to such a barbarous level — 
note, madam, pray, the wall painted in perspective 


LONDON TOWN. 


341 


to represent Gothic fretwork — that any suggestion 
of real elegance comes as a revelation from heaven. 
Remark this balustrade, Sir Harry! how light it is! 
adorned with the antelopes, as you see, all quite in 
the Gothic manner.” 

“ If there were but a thought more light,” sug-i 
gested his visitor. 

“ No, no! ” with a shudder ; “ not another glimmer, 
for worlds. The obfuscation is studied; see! the 
windows are gloomed with those painted fat saints to 
shoulder out the garishness. There’s nothing of the 
sort in England. Madam, you ’ll scarce credit it; I 
have in all thirty-two windows of painted glass in my 
little box.” 

“ Indeed, sir ! ” 

“ Here, as you see, the vestibule opens with three- 
arches upon the landing.” 

“ And these niches ? ” 

“ Are filled with trophies, coats-of-mail, Indian 
shields, broadswords, quivers, long-bows, and spears, 
all said to have been taken by Sir Terry Robsart—you 
know our descent, Sir Harry — in the holy wars — ” 

He was interrupted by somebody at his elbow cry¬ 
ing in a loud but not unmusical voice, — 

“ Lord, sir! and are these your manners, — to leave 
company to shift for themselves while you are ex 
plaining your outlandish curiosities ? ” 

Walpole turned with a flush of pleasure to intro¬ 
duce the speaker,—a stout, middle-aged woman, with 
bold eyes and coarse features redeemed by a look of 
shrewdness and good-nature, as Mrs. Clive. 

“Leave us now to become acquainted, sir, and 


342 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


make haste to meet her ladyship, who I saw coming 
through the shrubbery.” 

Upon this hint the host hurried away, when the 
actress, turning to Agnes, said bluntly, — 

“ ’T is well I arrived in time, madam ; else, had he 
once got you upstairs, you might never have come 
off alive. ’T is endless, — the trash he has stored 
there; but come with me out of this dark hole, and 
I will show you something more worth while.” 

Leading the way back to the little parlor, she 
seated them in the bow-window and pointed out the 
view, with Twickenham on the one hand, Richmond 
on the other, the river winding below, and fine green, 
meadows between. 

As they sat thus, Walpole came back leading a 
tall, rather faded-looking woman, with soft features, 
a long neck, and quiet manners, whom he introduced 
as Lady Suffolk. 

Agnes stared in astonishment to see both ladies 
without tuckers, and so very naked as to suggest 
that they had been interrupted in their toilet and 
come away half dressed. 

Mr. Chute presently appeared, — a high-bred, dull- 
looking man, with a lean face and an aquiline nose; 
and dinner was announced. 

Frankland, having attempted on the way out sev¬ 
eral fine speeches in Lady Suffolk’s ear, discovered 
after a little that her ladyship was deaf, a fact made 
more evident in the course of the meal by a little 
side conversation between her and Mrs. Clive. 

w What a beauty, madam ! ’Tis her own tint, too.” 

u Poh! Never tell me that.” 


LONDON TOWN. 


343 


44 1 swear to you ! ” 

Lady Suffolk put up her glass and stared at Agnes, 
whose eyes were riveted upon her plate with a futile 
attempt at unconsciousness, the mounting color tell¬ 
ing its own story upon cheek and forehead. 

The dinner was enlivened by stories of Court life 
by Lady Suffolk, and racy stage anecdotes from Mrs. 
Clive, the host himself contributing a due share. 

Among other sallies, he rallied Frankland on his 
lawsuit. 

“How is your aunt, Sir Harry? Have you en¬ 
countered the old dame yet ? Egad! you ’ll find her 
a foe worthy your steel.” 

44 You know her ladyship, then ? ” 

44 God forbid ! Not I. I’m told old Marlborough 
was a lamb to her. A regular Xantippe, the terror 
of her own family, and now come to be the scourge 
of vours. You’ve heard her pet name ? ” 

44 No.” 

44 Why, by those who have to do with her she is 
familiarly called 4 the Devil.’ ” 

44 Behind her back ?” 

44 1 warrant you.” 

44 You fill me with terror,” said Frankland, 
laughing. 

“And well I may,” answered Walpole, delighted 
at having unearthed so promising a bit of gossip. 
44 1 tell you frankly I would n’t give a fico for all you 
ever recover from her.” 

44 1 have hopes a jury of Englishmen will never see 
a family inheritance alienated from its proper course.” 

44 Oh, for the landed estates, you may have them 


844 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


back after she ’s dead; but for the personal heredita* 
ments, — all the plate, portraits, jewels, and memo¬ 
rials of the Great Protector, — I promise you she will 
burn them to ashes before one ever comes back to 
you, though Newgate stared her in the face.” 

“ And she’s welcome, for all me. I fancy, all told, 
there’s nothing of much worth.” 

“ Hear the man, Chute ! Hear him, ladies! Why, 
sir, the old hag has in her clutches the Frankland 
Cooper! ” 

“ And what, pray, is that ? ” 

“Eh?” cried the amazed virtuoso, breathlessly. 

“ Good God, sir! you have lost credit forever in 
this house ! ” said Lady Suffolk, tranquilly. 

Agnes, not yet quite accustomed to elegant society, 
started at the oath. 

“ But to come back to the point,” said Frankland. 

“And are you serious? you cannot be such a 
d-d ignoramus! ” 

“ I assure you.” 

“Tell him, your ladyship, while I get back my 
breath! ” 

“ Why, sir, ’t is a miniature portrait of Cromwell, 
done by the famous Cooper. The story goes that 
the Protector came one day unexpectedly into the 
artist’s cabinet, while he was engaged upon the por¬ 
trait, and caught him making a copy ; whereupon 
he snatched the original and carried it off in high 
dudgeon.” 

“ And this is now in the possession of my aunt?” 

“Ay, is it,” broke in Walpole, “ after having come 
down to you from old Oliver himself I ’Tis a very 


LONDON TOWN. 


345 


gem, too, and well known to collectors; indeed, in 
corroboration of Lady Suffolk’s story, you may see 
the armor in the picture is unfinished. The old 
griffin sets great store by it, I assure you; ’t is 
guarded more jealously than the crown jewels. 
Chute shall relate the circumstance of seeing it once 
in company with Bentley. Come, Cu! ” 

“ Why,” began Chute, in a dry and formal tone 
very different from his friend’s, “ having gone in full 
dress, as we had a hint we must, to her ladyship’s 
town residence, Hollis Street, Cavendish Square, we 
were received with much ceremony and ushered up 
to her bedroom, where she sat propped up in great 
grandeur, being ill at the time, in a yellow satin 
nightgown, and blazing with all the family jewels. 
The family coach, with attendants in livery, was 
thereupon despatched to the bankers, where the min¬ 
iature was deposited for safe keeping, and it was 
brought in great state and exposed to our homage. 
Then, after we had satisfied our curiosity and ex¬ 
hausted our raptures, it was conveyed back again 
with the like ceremony.” 

After dinner the guests were taken to the garden 
to see the sights, — the rare plants, the fountain, the 
Chinese summer-house, and the antique shrine sent 
from Italy by Sir Horace Mann. 

“Yonder,” said Walpole, pointing to a roof just 
peeping from behind the grove, “ is Cliveden ! ” 

“ My own bit of a box,” explained Mrs. Clive, with 
a soubrette dip ; “ and nere, see, is the path leading 
to it with a name of its own, like a street in town j 
and what, think you, but Drury Lane ? ” 


346 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


The coach was presently announced, and Agnes 
went to put on her bonnet. 

“Egad! Sir Harry,” cried Walpole, looking after 
her in admiration, “my heart is quite gone to this 
radiant creature of yours, — she is a very paragon. 
Introduce her at Court, and she would be the toast 
of the town in a fortnight.” 

“ Or upon the boards either,” piped up Mrs. Clive. 
“ What would not little Davy give for such a face 
and figure! ” 

“ But you will never persuade me,” added 
her ladyship, “that a creature with such elegance 
and propriety of deportment was bred up in the 
wilderness.” 

The chorus was interrupted by Agnes’s reappear¬ 
ance upon the steps, when Walpole hastened forward 
to hand her into the coach. 

Frankland set out for home evidently delighted 
with his visit. “ You see now, my dear, the effect 
of getting out of that hot-bed of bigotry we have 
been living in, and into the company of men and 
women of the world.” 

Agnes did not speak, but seemed to ponder the 
remark. 

“ You have to-day been received* and with the 
greatest honor and respect, in one of the first house¬ 
holds in the kingdom.” 

“ And those ladies — ” 

Agnes stopped. Frankland gazed at her search- 
ingly. “ Why did you stop ? What did you mean 
by that look ? ” 

“ Indeed, I do not know.” 


LONDON TOWN. 


347 


“ Poh ! You are dissembling.” 

“ You know I cannot dissemble. I tell you the 
simple truth ; ’t is beyond my power to unravel the 
strange medley of thoughts and emotions I have had 
to-day.” 

“ But you surely know your feelings upon your 
reception.” 

“ I have but one feeling or wish in the matter.” 

“ And that ? ” 

“ That you should be satisfied.” 

“ ’T is idle to talk so ; you must experience dif¬ 
ferent emotions from respectful and contemptuous 
treatment.” 

“ I do not know; I am tired thinking upon it. 
I am not sure I should not prefer merited contumely 
to undeserved respect. But ’t is out of my power 
to control. I must accept what comes; it makes 
little difference now, it can make none in the end.” 

She spoke quietly and without bitterness, in a 
voice strong with the calmness of resignation. 

Frankland felt himself disarmed by it. 

“ My dear child,” he said, with softened manner, 
“ you will have no more ill-treatment to endure. I 
can answer for my friends ; I can answer for the 
people here. We shall live henceforward in another 
world, — a world, as you will find, big enough for all 
to breathe in after their own manner.” 


CHAPTER XXX. 


“FACE TO FACE.” 


HE suit of Frankland vs. Frankland duly came 



JL on for trial before the Court of King’s Bench, 
and a brief account of the proceedings was published 
in the forthcoming “ Gentleman’s Magazine.” From 
this abridged report it appears that Sir Harry pre¬ 
vailed in the matter so far as to have the will set 
aside and a reversion of the property adjudged to 
him upon the death of the dowager, who was, more¬ 
over, condemned to pay all the costs of court. 

Life in London, meanwhile, was fast spoiling Frank¬ 
land for a return to America. The disaffection had, 
indeed, set in from the moment he came within 
sound of Bow Bells, and continued every moment to 
increase. Soon after his coming, therefore, he had 
let it be known to friends influential with the Gov¬ 
ernment that he should not be averse to a change; 
and now that his business was done, and a prospect 
of return stared him in the face, he took the bolder 
step of making a formal application to be transferred 
to some corresponding position upon the Continent. 

While awaiting official action upon this petition, 
he one day received a letter from his mother, saying 
that with his two unmarried sisters she was on the 
point of setting out from Mattersea, the family seat 


“ FACE TO FACE* 


349 


in Nottinghamshire, to come to her house in town, 
where they were all looking forward with the great¬ 
est eagerness to a reunion with him ; that meantime, 
however, they must stop on the way at Denbigh, 
where some pressing family affairs would detain them 
for several weeks. 

He brought this home and read it to Agnes. 

“ They are coming here ! ” she repeated, blankly. 

“ ‘ Here ’! Oh, no ; to their own house.” 

Notwithstanding this assurance, she mused over 
the intelligence with a troubled face. 

He did not heed her; he was thinking. All at 
once he started up with a shout: — 

“Why should n’t we? We will. Egad, we will! 
My dear, I have a notion.” 

Agnes shook off her abstraction to listen. 

“ Capital! Yes, yes! Nothing could be easier. 
We will do it, I say. We will go to Mattersea! ” 

He stopped, and laughed aloud at her look of 
dismay. 

“ They’ll be gone, you understand,—all gone ; the 
coast will be clear — only one or two old servants to 
whom any explanation will do — ” 

Agnes checked his enthusiasm by shaking her head 
emphatically. 

“Eh? What now?” 

“ And do you think I would do that ? ” 

“ Do what, pray ? ” 

“ Go to their house by stealth, and in their 
absence ? ” 

“ ‘ Their house ! ’ — what the deuce, my dear! — 
4 Their house * * ’T is my house ! my own — ’t is an 


350 


AGNES SURRI AGE. 


entail. I am the head of the family ; my mother occu¬ 
pies the house in my absence by my sufferance.” 

Agnes still shook her head. 44 Go you,” she said, 
44 and leave me behind! ” 

His face fell. He was silent for a space, and said 
at length in a tone of controlled irritation : — 

44 Stay, then, if you will! ” 

44 You are angry with me, Frankland.” 

44 1 had hoped you were cured of these foolish 
qualms, since getting out of yonder mole’s nest of 
bigotry.” 

44 .I cannot help my feelings ; I can only pray for 
strength to control them,” she answered patiently; 
44 but in this matter I am not alone concerned.” 

He sat nursing his chagrin, and did not speak. 

44 My going thither will be a needless affront to 
your family.” 

44 It need never be discovered.” 

44 But will none the less be an underhanded and 
unworthy action in me.” 

44 How then! Have I not a right to go to my own 
house when’t is empty, and take whom I choose — 
But say no more ! I will press you no further.” 

44 You need not,” she answered resignedly, 44 since 
I am resolved to go. I only thought—’t is excusa¬ 
ble, I hope, to beg you will show some small considera¬ 
tion for the feelings of others, even if—” 
t She needed not to finish the sentence. Her mean¬ 
ing was only too clear. He sprang to detain her as 
she turned to leave the room. 

44 Agnes, hearken a moment! It has been one of 
my most cherished wishes in bringing you hither to 


“FACE TO FACE .” 


351 


take you to the home of my boyhood, to show you 
the scenes of our early sports, to go with you to all 
the places I have talked so much about, and live it 
over with you upon the spot. I have said nothing of 
it before, but I have had it steadily in view from the 
beginning. I have constantly thought and dreamt of 
it, awaiting with impatience an opportunity to carry it 
into effect. Behold here the opportunity ready made 
to our hands! My business here is done; my family 
will not arrive for several weeks. I can make no plan 
as to my future movements until I have an answer 
from the Government. I have nothing to do mean¬ 
time but stand idly here sucking my thumbs. Sud¬ 
denly comes the news that the house is vacant— My 
dear, do you see what a grievous disappointment — ” 

“ I will go, I say.” 

He folded her in his arms, and the discussion ended 
in a conventional way. 

The preparation for so long a journey was no light 
matter, but, set about with vigor, was soon concluded. 
The heavy, lumbering travelling-coach having been 
thoroughly overhauled and put in repair, was loaded 
down with piles of superfluous luggage without and 
innumerable needed and needless comforts within. 
At last, with the coachman armed to the teeth upon 
the box, the footman and valet quaking upon the 
rumble, the maid and bandboxes crowded in with 
themselves, they set forth, attended for the first half¬ 
score miles by a mounted escort as a guard against 
the highwaymen who infested every turnpike leading 
from the city. 


352 


AGNES SURRIAGE- 


To Agnes, whose journeys at home had been for 
the most part through the wilderness, this spectacle 
of a whole countryside under cultivation was a reve¬ 
lation. She beheld with speechless delight, framed 
in the coach-window, picture after picture of waving 
wheat-fields, flourishing orchards, blooming hedge¬ 
rows, quaint villages, noble parks, stately cathedrals, 
turreted castles. All bespoke a land inhabited for 
centuries, an atmosphere breathing of antiquity and 
historic prestige, of wealth and power, national glory 
and private renown. It produced, too, another im¬ 
pression : an uncomfortable and belittling one, of per¬ 
sonal insignificance, — a feeling, as she described it to 
Frankland, as if she herself had been born but }^es- 
terday, a child of nowhere and nothingness, and had 
no place amid such surroundings. 

Frankland, on the contrary, reviving every moment 
fresh reminiscences of childhood, felt more and more 
akin with his environment. Intent upon making 
Agnes share his enthusiasm, he pointed out, with brief 
scraps of history or tradition, the more picturesque 
and noted landmarks. Now it was the distant peaks 
of Chilton Hills, now the tranquil Ouse zigzagging 
its slow way across the fertile plains of Bedfordshire, 
again the dark mass of Rockingham Forest looming 
far to the left over the gentle downs of Northamp¬ 
ton, or, more imposing than all, the ancient pile of 
Peterborough Cathedral uprising in their very path. 

Here, as it chanced, they stopped for the night, 
and Agnes spent all her waking hours at the Cathe¬ 
dral, gazing awe-struck upon the grand fa 9 ade with 
its forest of turrets, spires, and pinnacles, or wander- 


“FACE TO FACE” 


353 


ing with bated breath amid the solemn glories of the 
interior. 

Continuing their way early next day, they crossed 
the little river Welland, and rolled on over the 
Kesteven moors, watching the morning mists uprise 
like ghosts from the far-off Lincoln fens. 

Arrived in Nottinghamshire, familiar objects greeted 
Frankland’s eager eye on every hand, and Agnes noted 
with surprise his steadily increasing agitation as they 
advanced amid scenes of which she had so often heard 
him speak with indifference. 

At Newark, while their horses were baiting, they 
walked down upon the great bridge which spans the 
Trent. 

44 Here, my dear, is one of the three great rivers of 
England ! ” 

“ 4 Great! ’ ” repeated Agnes, depreciatingly ; “’t is 
not, however, so big as our own Charles,” she con¬ 
cluded, with a calculating eye. 

“ Poh, poh, little patriot! The Boston river is all 
mouth, like a good many of the noisy praying hypo¬ 
crites on its banks; this river is more considerable 
and far deeper.” 

Passing through Carlton, Tuxford, East and West 
Retford, they approached, with nightfall, the little 
hamlet of Mattersea, in the Hatfield division of the 
wapentake of Bassetlaw, on the south bank of the 
Idle. 

44 See! — do you see, my dear,” cried Frankland, 
scarcely able to keep his seat, 44 that dark line yonder 
on the western horizon ? That is the famous Forest 
of Sherwood. Ah, now we are getting nearer; here 


354 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


is Hay ton Castle, not a stone changed ; farther on 
is Blackaw Hill; we ’ll climb it together, you and I. 
This stretch nearer at hand is Barnby Moor, and yon¬ 
der is Torworth Grange. But, stay; there is some¬ 
thing more curious: do you see a great ridge in the 
distance overgrown with ivy and a tangle of shrub¬ 
bery? That is the remains of a Roman road one 
thousand — fifteen hundred, nearly two thousand 
years old. Heigh-ho I it seems but yesterday I saw it 
last. Ah, here we are at Stone Hill; and look! look! 
yonder is the village ! A few minutes more and you 
may see the oaks and sycamores in our own park.” 

Filled with the home-returning feeling, Frankland 
gazed about him in a transport, without a thought of 
Agnes’s state of mind. His attention was presently 
drawn to her in an unexpected manner. 

“ Here is an inn! ” she cried, suddenly clutching 
his arm. 

“ Yes, the village inn,” he said carelessly. 

“ Let us stop ! ” 

“ ‘ Stop ’! ” He turned, and discovered with 
amazement her panic-stricken face. 

“ I want to get out. I want to stop here. I can¬ 
not go on with you ! ” 

Puzzled at so sudden a consternation, Frankland 
hesitated. 

“ Put me down, I pray you. You need not stop a 
minute ; I can take care of myself. Go, and do not 
hasten your visit! Stay yonder as long as you like. 
I shall be content, I shall be patient, I will wait for 
you here.” 

“ Why! why! why! What sudden whimsy is 


■'FACE TO FACE . 19 355 

this?” said Frankland, laughing aloud, but with a 
forced effect. 

“ Stop the coach, I beg! ” 

“ I will do nothing of the sort. Don’t be a goose, 
love I We have settled it all once that you ’re to go. 
You will have me at your side; what do you fear ? ” 

“ Do not ask me ! Do not argue about it! ” 

“ But I will argue upon it. You shall not be so silly. 
What should you fear ? Is it not my own house, 
when all is said and done ? Come, come, my dear,” 
embracing her; “ have done now with such childish¬ 
ness, and trust to me ! ” 

His words and manner had a due effect. Agnes 
made no further remonstrance, but sat for some min¬ 
utes in silence, evidently fighting a little battle with 
herself. That she came off with no very signal vic¬ 
tory was shown by the uncertain tone in which she 
vetoed Frankland’s suggestion to stop if she were 
still unwilling to go on. 

Meantime the coach had been making progress and 
was now rolling up the avenue. Agnes was too much 
agitated to note details. She was only conscious of 
stopping before an open door, of seeing Frankland 
alighted and shaking hands with a gray-haired old 
butler, of seeing the servants flying to and fro with 
the luggage, of finding herself mounting the stone 
steps into a spacious hall and following on into a re- ( 
ception-room where, to her bewilderment, she beheld 
Frankland in the embrace of a venerable matron who 
sobbed with joy as she clasped him to her bosom, and 
of two young women, both of whom gave evidence of 
the liveliest emotion. 


356 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Dazed and neglected, she stood in the midst of the 
confusion, servants running to and fro, doors slam¬ 
ming, dogs barking, and these strange people laughing 
and weeping over Frankland. 

As soon as they released him he turned to look 
for her. She stood waiting near the door. He made 
a shambling, confused movement to go to her, but 
checked himself. He turned the other way and 
then back again ; he glared at the floor while big 
drops of sweat stood upon his forehead. Over¬ 
whelmed with the situation, he had lost all con¬ 
trol of himself. There was a terrible silence in 
the room. 

Agnes lived long years in the pause, — years 
freighted with moral experience. 

Frankland rose slowly to the occasion. The man 
was shaken to his centre. Summoning all his re¬ 
sources of courage and firmness, it was at last with 
unsettled voice and composure that he spoke. 

“Mamma, my friend Miss Surriage. Agnes, my 
sisters, Miss Frances, Miss Mary.” 

A breeze straight from an iceberg came sweeping 
through the summer air. Mrs. Frankland, as if every 
drop of blood had congealed in her veins, courtesied 
from a freezing distance. She did not move from 
her place, but folding her withered hands above her 
girdle, fixed her dimmed eyes upon the stranger 
with annihilating disfavor. Her two daughters upon 
either hand dropped their eyes to the floor and stood 
motionless. 

There was a distressing pause; Frankland’s face 
flushed. 


“ FACE TO FACE ” 357 

“ Madam,” he cried in an appealing tone, “ is this 
your reception of my dearest friend ? ” 

“We had no warning that we were to be honored 
by — by such a guest,” faltered the matron, huskily. . 

But the son did not hear; his eyes were turned 
anxiously upon Agnes, who with a white face and 
^eyes staring upon vacancy began to sway with a reel¬ 
ing motion. 

“Madam, sisters, ’tis inhuman! See, she is in a 
faint! ” 

The two young ladies started impulsively forward, 
but the mother put out her trembling hands with a 
restraining gesture: — 

“Jenkins — the housekeeper, the servants; the 
bell is at your hand, Charles ! ” 

Seizing Agnes about the waist, Frankland pulled 
the bell violently; but directly Agnes, as if by sheer 
force of will, recovered energy to disengage herself 
from his grasp, and said faintly: — 

“ I will go away.” 

“No, you shall not. Madam, I say — ladies, for 
shame! You shall not be thrust forth. I myself 
will bid you welcome to the shelter of my own roof. 
Be calm, my dear; have no fear! I will see that you 
have honorable treatment.” 

At this moment a servant entered in answer to the 
bell. 

“ Go bid the housekeeper make ready the best 
chamber in the house for this lady’s use, and have 
her luggage taken up without delay! ” 

“ Since you have assumed control of the house¬ 
hold, my son, your sisters and I will withdraw,” said 


858 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


his mother, in a voice trembling with pride and 

resentment. 

“We will relieve you of the necessity,” retorted 
Frankland sharply, and followed Agnes into the hall. 

There she sank upon a bench against the wall, and 
he strode hotly up and down. Presently, as he ap¬ 
proached, she made a movement to speak. 

“ No, no; I know what you would say. Nothing 
can excuse such an affront. A reception like this 
after all these years! An indignity, an outrage, put 
upon me in my own house ! ” 

Seeing the uselessness of remonstrance, Agnes 
waited for his anger to cool. Suddenly he came and 
knelt by her side : — 

“Pardon,— pardon me, dear, for this needless trial 
I have brought upon you. You were in the right to 
stay away.” 

“ But now we are both in the wrong.” 

“ How in the wrong ? ” flaming up again. 

“ By staying here a moment longer. Let me go, 
then, I beg, before any greater harm is done I ” 

“ No, by God I that you shall not! ” he cried vio¬ 
lently. “ If you quit this house, I go with you, and 
never to return ! ” 

She had never seen him so aroused, and was very 
much shocked, but none the less intent upon being 
heard. 

“ Listen to me but a moment, Frankland,” she 
began, with a calmness proportioned to his excite¬ 
ment. “ I beg you but to look at the other side ol 
this matter. Think of the case of these ladies.” 

He repressed a movement of impatience. 


“FACE TO FACE ” 


359 


M ’T is plain ill accounts of me have reached them — 
no doubt made worse to their ears. There was no 
need; the truth was enough to justify their conduct.” 

“ This is the old strain; I will hear no more of it! ” 
he interrupted angrily. 

“ Their conduct, I say, is justified,” she went 
on firmly. “I do not accept their treatment as an 
affront.” 

“ But it is an affront, however you accept it. You 
are growing of late into a habit of submitting too 
tamely to such indignities.” 

A sudden light came and went in her face like 
the flash of a candle behind a darkened window. 
Frankland noted the effect, and looked profoundly 
rebuked. 

Perceiving this, perhaps, she went on in a gentler 
tone: — 

“Why should I be the cause of embroiling you 
with your family? Let me go away, then, quietly 
and at once.” 

“ Go, then; go now ! go at once ! ” he cried pas¬ 
sionately ; “ but it shall be in my company ! ” And 
springing to his feet, he hurried away as if to carry 
his sudden purpose into effect. 

Repressing a vague movement to follow him, Agnes 
sat reviewing the situation with a look of utter doubt 
and distress. What was left her to do? The re¬ 
sponsibility for any happy and peaceable issue of the 
matter seemed to rest with her. She showed no 
attempt to shirk it, but spent, however, some minutes 
of anxious thought in making up her mind. Pres¬ 
ently, clearing her face of trouble, she turned with 


360 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


a firm step to the reception-room. Mrs. Frankland 
was seated in a chair by the table with her daugh¬ 
ters upon either hand, engaged in an excited parley. 
She half rose from her seat, and flushed with anger 
at sight of Agnes entering the room alone and 
unbidden. 

The latter, however, was not driven from her pur¬ 
pose by this unpromising reception. 

“ Madam,” she began very quietly, “ I wish to 
crave your pardon for this unwarranted intrusion 
into your household. I grieve for the pain it has 
cost you, and I beg to assure you that I am not here 
of my own will.” 

The matron turned away her face, pale and rigid 
as a mask in its pride and aversion, and fixed her 
eyes upon the opposite wall. The two young women, 
however, gazed with an irresistible fascination upon 
the stranger, who calmly and with an air curiously 
mingled of dignity and humility went on : — 

“For your want of charity to me, ’tis a matter 
between God and your own heart. I owe you no 
grudge for it. I make no claim to any consideration 
at your hands. I come to you now, that you may be 
spared further pain. I would have left your house at 
once. Your son would not suffer I should go alone; 
he will go with me, and threatens in such case never 
to return.” 

The mother started from her pose of inflexibility 
and regarded Agnes with a look of consternation. 

“ Oh, madam, I should be forever wretched to 
know myself the cause of such a breach between you. 
Tndeed, I cannot bear the thought of it. If, then, it 


“FACE TO FACE” 


361 


proves there is no resource but that I should stay, I 
wish only to explain’t is under compulsion, and to 
assure you ’t will be for the briefest possible space; 
and that in the mean time I neither expect nor will 
consent to receive any attention at your hands.” 

Before the astonished matron could gather herself 
for a reply, Agnes had returned to the hall. There 
she met Frankland, hat in hand, giving directions 
to his valet. He stared to see her come from the 
reception-room. 

“’Tis all settled!” she said, going quickly forward. 
“ Eh ? ” 

“ I have been speaking with Mrs. Frankland. It 
is understood between us that I am to remain. Ask 
me nothing further. Go in now and see her. I 
make only one request, — that my name shall noc be 
mentioned between you.” 

She turned and went upstairs in the direction she 
had seen the servant disappear with her luggage. 
Frankland, after a moment’s hesitation, went in to 
see his mother and sisters. 

They had a long interview. He did not tell Agnes 
the result, but only explained that the unexpected 
presence of his family in the house was due to an 
accident which had delayed their departure. He 
added that some business between him and his 
mother would keep him over the following day. 

Meantime, despite all remonstrances on her pa.*t, 
he ate his meals and spent most of his time with 
Agnes. Next morning, after another long interview 
with his family, he came back to her again, and with 
much ado coaxed her out for an airing. When near 


362 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


the park gate they were met by a coach drawn by 
six horses just turning into the avenue. 

There was a cry of joy from the coach-window, 
and Frankland ran forward. The lady within em¬ 
braced him again and again in the most affectionate 
manner, and flooded him with questions. 

“ But who is with you ? I wondered as you came 
down the avenue, first supposing ’t was Fanny or 
Molly, grown taller in my absence ; but where is she 
vanished?” exclaimed the lively lady, putting her 
head out to gaze at Agnes, who stood a little with¬ 
drawn and looking in another direction. 

“ ’T is a friend of my own from America,” said 
Frankland, in some confusion. 

“ Indeed! — and visiting at the house ? ” 

But Frankland’s head was turned, and he did not 
see the fleeting look of inquiry, nor choose to hear 
the question. 

“ Heavens I What beauty! See, my lord! But 
I know not if it be safe to give you a glimpse of such 
loveliness. Pray present us, Harry.” 

Frankland hesitated, but seeing no escape, com¬ 
plied. 

“ Miss Surriage, my sister Lady Chichester ; Lord 
Chichester.” 

“ I count myself happy to know you, madam ; we 
shall become better acquainted before the day is out, 
I hope,” said the Countess, graciously. 

Agnes gravely courtesied, without returning either 
the smile or greeting. 

“ A proud puss, your friend,” whispered the lady, 
tapping her brother upon the shoulder; “ but make 


“FACE TO FACE. 1 * 


363 


haste back from your walk, for I have such a deal to 
say, and you have to make acquaintance with your 
new brother here, who has come to take you to 
visit us.” 

Frankland went back to Agnes with a beaming 
face. 

“ ’T is my sister Anne ; she has more sense and wit 
than all the rest. I told j'ou of her marriage, re¬ 
member, before we left Boston. She has a peer for 
a husband, and deserves her good fortune.” 

Mindful of his sister’s injunction, Frankland 
abridged their walk. They were gone scarcely an 
hour. On the way to their rooms they by chance 
met my Lady Chichester upon the stairs. The lapse 
of sixty minutes had, it seemed, effected a great 
change in her ladyship’s mood. 

“ You see, Anne, I’m still a man of my word! ” 
cried Frankland, gayly. 

Her ladyship returned no answer. Gathering up 
her rustling dinner-robe, distended by a flaring hoop, 
she passed on without a word or look of recognition. 

Frankland turned as if to call after, but, unable to 
articulate for rage, rushed off to his own room and 
paced the floor with suppressed fury. 

Happily, at this juncture came a distraction, — a 
packet just arrived by post, bearing the Government 
seal. He opened it and read it once or twice through 
before his thoughts were sufficiently collected to di¬ 
gest the contents. It proved to be a foreign appoint¬ 
ment. Perhaps no more effective sedative to his 
injured feelings could have been devised. 

After pondering it for a while he took it to Agnes. ^ 


864 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“It shall be my excuse for quitting this place 
within the hour,” he cried, with a sudden look of 
exultation. “ They shall not have the satisfaction 
to suppose they have driven us away with their 
black looks. Call your maid, darling, and pack up 
directly.” 

Without waiting for objection or remonstrance, he 
hurried away to push on his own preparations. 
Within two hours the carriage was at the door. Not 
even a servant came to wish them godspeed as they 
rolled away. 

Throwing himself back in the carriage with a sigh 
of relief, Frankland was silent until they were clear 
of the village, when he suddenly called out to the 
driver to take the next turn to the north. Agnes 
looked surprised. 

“ There’s no such pressing haste to reach London 
now that we are clear of yonder place,” he said in 
explanation. “ This business of the packet can 
await our leisure. A part of my plan in coming 
north, my dear, which I have been keeping as a sur¬ 
prise for you, was to see the estate of which I have 
just recovered the reversion.” 

“ Thirkleby?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you have never seen it ? ” 

“ Never; and as it lies only a day’s journey to the ‘ 
northward, and as her Infernal Majesty the present 
owner is at present digesting her late defeat in Lon¬ 
don, why, we may get a peep of it, and no one ever 
the wiser. Only the outside, my dear,” he added, 
noting the alarm in Agnes’s face; “ have no fear 


FACE TO FACE” 


365 


that I shall venture to cross the threshold. This 
experience will suffice me for a while.” 

Busied with natural reflections over the unhappy- 
issue of his visit home, upon which he had fondly 
formed such different expectations, Frankland passed 
the day in moody silence. To Agnes the journey wasj 
illuminated by an unexpected and glorious vision,—. 
the minster at York. Even Frankland was diverted 
for the moment from his own bitter reflections by 
her ingenuous wonder and fresh enthusiasm. 

It was nearly dark when they reached Thirsk, and 
too late that day to visit Thirkleby Hall. After 
supper at the inn Frankland fell into talk with the 
landlord and a group of gossips, with the purpose of 
making some guarded inquiries about the condition 
and management of the estate. Agnes, left to herself, 
wandered through the village to the fine old church, 
where she stood watching the shadows gather about 
the massive tower until the clock beneath the Gothic 
window tolling curfew warned her home. 

Next morning they drove to the Hall. Frankland 
stopped the coach when they were within full and 
unobstructed view of it, and gazed with profound 
interest upon the home of his ancestors and his own 
future patrimony, — a large, imposing mansion, with 
an apsidal bay and a portico in antis, built in the 
style of the Grecian renaissance, in anticipation of 
the memorable publications of Stuart and Revett,^ 
which were destined to revive the spirit of classicism 
all over the kingdom. 

Frankland sighed as he turned away, perhaps with 
some mysterious premonition of the truth that he 


366 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


was destined never to look upon those stately walls 
again. All the journey backward, too, he was silent 
and absorbed, and only when in the immediate 
neighborhood of London recovered his cheerfulness. 

There, after due consultation with the Government, 
it was determined that he should be allowed some 
months to spend in travel before settling down in 
his new position. 

Several busy weeks passed in preparation; when 
at last, having effected arrangements for the manage¬ 
ment of his affairs in America, and committed his 
English interests to the guidance of trustworthy 
hands, he set out with Agnes for a prolonged tour 
upon the Continent. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 


A GAY CAPITAL. 

April 7. Returned ... to Lisbon. 

44 8. Paid perruque-maker for combing wigs for 3 

months. 7200 

“ 44 For boy 240 — Charges at Panada 480 . . . 720 

“ 44 For chaise hire 5400, chaise man 400 . . . 5800 

44 <( For singing man 480; M r Horne’s servant 480 960 

44 9. Went to Opera. 


44 44 To milkman at 40 rea per pint.1080 

44 11. To putting a new glass to the chaise . . . 3200 

44 44 Paid baker 32 loaves.1280 

44 *« For borders 3 feet wide Persian ranunculus, 

paracelsus, jonquils, red Turkey, yellow 
do. belladonna, lily. 

44 16. To Jacinta.480 

44 22. To Jacinta 6400. To Bacchus and Hannah . 1600 

44 27. Went to the Opera. 


This page from an old memorandum-book dated 
1755, and written in his own hand, shows that early 
in the spring following their departure from England 
— the winter, doubtless, having been spent in trav¬ 
elling — Frankland was fairly settled in his new 
position at the Portuguese capital. 

From a careful study of these extracts, it further 
appears that he had already set up a household of 
his own, in which the two slaves Bacchus and 
Hannah, brought from Hopkinton, were reinforced 






368 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


by divers native servants ; that he still indulged his 
old taste for gardening, as well as a certain other old 
taste, in which, we may be sure, Agnes shared his 
enthusiasm (for the Lisbon opera was then accounted 
the best in all Europe) ; and that, in fine, he was liv¬ 
ing after a free, open-handed, not to say extravagant 
fashion. 

But let it be remembered, in extenuation, that the 
Lisbon of that day was not a place wherein to prac¬ 
tise economy. On the contrary, its idle, pleasure- 
loving populace, borne along on the flood-tide of 
national prosperity, rioted in luxury. The stream 
of gold which flowed into the royal coffers from 
South American mines was flung forth again with 
lavish prodigality. Incidentally, domestic industries 
were fostered, foreign trade increased, and Lisbon 
ranked, for the moment, with the richest and most 
flourishing cities in the world. 

Among other evidences of commercial enterprise 
was a reciprocity treaty with England, dating back 
to the time of Queen Anne, by which somebody in 
that dull lady’s name shrewdly agreed to forego the 
duties upon Portuguese wines in consideration of the 
free entrance granted to British wool. The result 
was an influx of English to the Portuguese capital, 
where they presently set up a church, a fine factory 
with a banqueting-hall overhead, and had even pro¬ 
gressed to having a cemetery of their own. 

Recommended by his rank, wealth, Government 
position, and divers accomplishments, Frankland was 
received with open arms by this little colony of his 
countrymen. A sufficiently gay circle it proved, its 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


369 


cool British blood fired with contagion from the 
world without. 

The world without, be it said, reeked with 
contagion, and all from one prolific plague-spot. 
Compounded of a thousand traits and tendencies 
predetermined and perfected for that hour and func¬ 
tion, Dom Jos6 I. was born for the sceptre he 
wielded. Aside from the accident of birth, his 
comely, sensual face, with its arching brows, lan¬ 
guid eyes, full lips, and soft, curving chin, proclaimed 
him of a type most fit to preside with easy grace over 
a dissolute and luxurious court. Well, too, it may 
have been for Portugal that such engrossing cares 
prevented any intermeddling with the real conduct 
of affairs reposed in the masterful hands of Pombal. 

The business of getting their household in order, 
adapting their habits to changed surroundings, and 
returning visits of ceremony, so occupied the early 
months of their stay in Lisbon that Agnes and 
Frankland had little chance for sight-seeing. An 
old acquaintance from New England it was who one 
day persuaded them to climb to the Castle of St. 
George, where they had their first bird’s-eye view 
of the city. 

“ Why, ’t is worse than Marblehead for disorder,” 
cried Frankland ; “ eh, Agnes ? ’t is, I swear! ” 

“ Where be the seven hills ? ” asked Agnes, in 
equal surprise. 

“ All in the mind’s eye, madam,” answered Mr. 
Farmer, their guide ; “ yet not quite all, either: take 
away five, and you have it. See ! if you like, I will 
give you the plan of the city in a nutshell ? 19 
24 


370 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Do, sir! ” 

“ ’T is simply, then, a valley betwixt two hills: this 
where we stand and the one opposite. That yonder, 
as you may see, holds the most splendid buildings, — 
the Palace of Braganza, the Inquisition, — that 
gloomy building beyond, — the Hospital, St. Domi¬ 
nick, India House, St. Francisco, the Esperanza, St. 
Vincent, etc.” 

“ And where is the royal palace ? ” 

“ Here, at this end of the valley. See it yonder 
close upon the river’s bank, with the gardens and 
great square in front! Next beyond is the quay,— 
the pride of the city. There’s not such another in 
Europe. Along in the valley below us lie the prin¬ 
cipal streets, and at the other end is the Rocio .” 

“ A building ? ” 

“No; the great square yonder, where they hold 
their markets and fairs. So there is the town for 
you! ” 

“And all as plain as day. Farmer, I suspect 
you of having served an apprenticeship at this 
business! ” 

“ Why, so I have, by dragging sundry wheezy and 
asthmatic countrymen of yours up the slope, but 
have generally earned their gratitude for my pains.” 

“ And so you have ours ; but plunge us now still 
further in your debt,” said Franldand, lazily, “by 
pointing out which of all this deserves a closer 
study! ” 

“ Why, first and foremost, by all odds, the aque¬ 
duct, — the greatest construction of modern times.” 

“ Yes, to be sure; we’ve heard of that.” 


A GAY CAPITAL . 


371 


“ Then the quay, — already mentioned, — the 
churches — ” 

“ Oh, I am sure not to escape those,” interrupted 
Frankland, laughing. 

“ And when the city is exhausted, the greatest 
sight of all is yet in store for you.” 

“ Outside the town ? ” 

“ Yes ; at Cintra.” 

“ And what is there ? ” 

“ For Nature, the valley of Colares, which is quite 
beyond compare ; and for art, the great Monastery of 
Mafra, which — but I will not enlarge ; words, after 
all, can give you but a feeble notion, and only serve 
to take off the gloss.” 

“ In what direction is this marvel ? ” 

“Twenty miles or so westward, towards the coast. ” 

“ So, my dear, there is work in store for us, I see,” 
said Frankland, as they came down the hill. “We 
must shake off these social fetters and give ourselves 
to Nature.” 

Arrived home, however, they found new social fet¬ 
ters awaiting them in the form of invitations to a 
ball at the palace. 

“ Humph! we are in luck,” said Frankland, studying 
the royal crest upon the seal with a gratified look, and 
forgetting his late resolution. “ ’T is to be a grand 
affair; I’ve heard of it buzzing about town these 
some days, and there is great heart-burning among 
the neglected. You must have some fine new duds 
for this, girl! ” 

Agnes showed no delight at the prospect, neither, 
on the other hand, did she betray any panic. The 


872 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


months passed since leaving England had plainly been 
months of experience. There was something of it 
written in her face. The old look of resignation 
which had once been but a visitor, had now become a 
tenant, and with it domiciled a haunting suggestion 
of sadness, which she seemed ever busied in detect¬ 
ing and vigorously driving forth. 

Frankland, too, in the mean time had gained some¬ 
thing — or was it a loss ? There was indubitably a 
change in him, not to be so definitely placed or strictly 
defined, — something, perhaps, to be felt rather than 
put into words. It was not that his dress was gayer, 
his manner freer, and his talk more richly garnished 
with oaths ; it was rather an impression, gathered 
cumulatively from air, talk, and manner, that he had 
made up with tenfold interest all he had ever lost in the 
wilds of America. Clearly, now he would have had 
no trouble in outfacing the striplings at White’s. 

The ball fulfilled its promise ; it was very brilliant. 
The flower of all the gay capital afforded in rank, 
wealth, and fashion was there, and blazing in the 
midst, outshining Solomon in glory of apparel, the 
royal host. Surrounded by a crowd of courtiers only 
less splendid than himself, his Majesty most graciously 
received the thronging procession. With a ready 
memory for titles, ranks, and claims to favor, he dex¬ 
terously varied his form of greeting to suit the in¬ 
dividual. With a discriminating eye, too, for female 
beauty, he suffered no fresh or pretty face to pass 
without compliment, sometimes bold and outspoken, 
or again more significantly whispered, varying the 
monotony of the reception by an occasional satirical 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


373 


aside to his admiring courtiers upon any marked per¬ 
sonality in the obsequious crowd bowing before him. 

“ Who is that strange-looking man with the long 
narrow eyes, and a nose like a hawk’s beak ? ” whis¬ 
pered Agnes to Frankland as they stood apart after 
being received. 

“ Where?” 

“ Yonder, standing by the pillar ; a man is talking 
to him whom he does not heed. See how curiously 
he regards the King, and with what a sneering lip 
looks about upon the people. There! Look now! 
He turns this way, — he that wears the order with 
the Maltese cross.” 

“ Ha! you may well ask.” 

“ And why ? ” 

“ That is the Richelieu of Portugal, — the greatest 
man in the kingdom.” 

“ Pombal ? ” 

“ Yes; and well thought on. I have something to 
say to him. He is not listening to yonder fool, and 
I could not have a better opportunity. I will come 
back to you as soon as may be! ” 

Left to herself, Agnes recognized among the throng 
many of her new acquaintance of the English colony. 
Of them, the better class — the mercantile — was 
lacking. Those present were the fashionable sort, 
and a motley set they were, — scheming Jacobites, 
amateur diplomatists, titled gamblers, hungry-looking 
men of letters, and a plentiful sprinkling of rakes of 
both sexes. 

It was one of these latter who, to Agnes’s con¬ 
sternation, suddenly came towards her with a look 


374 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


of recognition, — a lively dame, with a vast expanse 
of bare bosom, a painted face, and a monstrous hoop. 

“Good God, madam, what is your secret? Here 
are you scarcely arrived, and have already engaged 
the eye of the King himself! ” 

Agnes started, and looked alarmed. The other 
laughed aloud. 

“ Brava! that start was perfection. A great come¬ 
dian was lost in you! Ah, sly puss! but you ’ll have 
need of all your cunning, for his Majesty is a capri¬ 
cious wooer.” 

“ Be pleased, madam, to bestow your conversation 
in a quarter where it will be more welcome I ” 
answered Agnes, in high dudgeon. 

“Tut, tut! what a firebrand. I meant no offence, 
dear creature ! Come, now, pocket your wrath, and 
admit me of your counsel! If I lack your art, I am 
not quite without some small skill in such matters! ” 

Glaring with frowning eyes upon the offender, 
Agnes made no answer. The other, nothing daunted, 
with a cool wink of innuendo went on, — 

“ ‘ Say, shall my little bark attendant sail, 

Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? * 

Ah! how dear Pope lends us the fitting word at 
every turn. But since your spleen is so kicked up, 
I ’ll tease you no more. Only bear in mind you may 
call upon me at need! And so — your most obedient 
humble servant, madam!” — settling down with a 
mock courtesy into her hoops as into a barrel. 

Complaining of this experience to Frankland, 
Agnes only provoked a laugh. 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


373 


“Poll, my dear! You were only baited with a 
little harmless raillery, and must needs go swallowing 
the hook. Lady Betty is thought something of a 
wit, and would be practising. She meant, I dare 
swear, but to pay you a fine compliment, and gave it 
this ingenious turn; though, indeed, for the matter 
of that, how his Majesty could have overlooked — ” 

“ Come, sir! ” 

“ Why, then, come, madam; let us join the dan¬ 
cers, set our feet wagging, and give our tongues a 
rest! ” 

Despite his gay banter, however, Frankland, as it 
soon appeared, was in no mood for the rout. The 
heat and press of the ball-room gave him a head¬ 
ache, and after a little he came to Agnes with a sug¬ 
gestion to go. The plea of illness was accepted as 
excuse, and they withdrew shortly after midnight, 
leaving the ball in full progress. 

In order to get clear of the throng of carriages 
which blocked every approach to the palace, the 
coachman drove down a narrow street which led 
to the quay. Upon Frankland’s suggestion they 
stopped and walked down upon the great mole, 
where, tempted by the fresh breeze and the moon¬ 
light, groups of people were still sauntering about, 
despite the lateness of the hour. 

Following down to the outer edge of the vast 
structure, they sat down in silence, and with one 
accord, under the tranquillizing influence of surround¬ 
ings so different from those just left, — the cold pure 
marble of the massive masonry beneath them, the 
murmuring splash of the water at its base, the fleeting 


876 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


shadows of the shipping upon the gleaming tide, 
the moonlit stream itself outspreading from the 
nearer gloom in an ever-widening track of light 
until lost like a dream-river in the oozy mystery 
beyond. 

Soothed and refreshed, they rose to go, with re¬ 
luctance. Sauntering slowly down the now almost 
deserted quay, as they neared their carriage a group 
of sailors issued from the shadow and straggled across 
their path. One lagging in the rear drew back for 
them to pass. A face grotesque and rugged as a 
gargoyle gleamed for an instant in the moonlight 
and disappeared. Agnes uttered a shriek, and clung 
to Frankland’s arm. 

“ What now! eh, what’s the matter ? ” 

She only shuddered for answer. 

“Tell me! tell me, I say! Are you hurt? Did 
you hear, did you see something?” 

“ A spirit! ” 

“That — poh! I saw it too. A spirit? Yes, a 
very familiar one. Nothing more nor less than a 
lumbering sailor in his cups, stupidly staring at such 
a sudden revelation of beauty.” 

The few people left upon the quay, attracted by 
the outcry, began to gather toward the spot, where¬ 
upon Frankland made haste to hand Agnes into the j 
carriage and drive away. 

Arrived home, she still showed traces of her late 
agitation, but would give no cause for it, nor, indeed, 
talk about it at all. As next morning she seemed 
quite recovered, Frankland, if he gave the matter a 
thought, evidently considered it not worth reviving. 


A GAY CAPITAL . 


377 


Two or three days afterwards, however, when he 
came in with the commonplace news that a Boston 
ship was in port, Agnes so plainly repressed a start 
that he could not but note it, and pondering the sub¬ 
ject, evidently worked out some theory of explanation 
satisfactory to himself, for he presently burst out: — 

“You keep housed too much, girl. How is it you 
never go abroad now-a-days ? ” 

“ The city is strange to me, and you seem to like 
best to go alone.” 

“I — eh — poh! What fol-de-rol! You are always 
busy when I chance to be going, I suppose; but come, 
I — I ” — yawning — “ will go with you at any time. 
Where shall we go ? ” 

“ Nowhere for me, you need n’t.” 

“ That place of Farmer’s—what d’ ye call it ? Cin- 
tra. Egad! that’s it; we ’ll go to Cintra. I ’ll make 
a party up for to-morrow, if I live, and meantime you 
shall go with me to-day at high meridian to see the 
King wash the beggars’ feet.” 

“ I beg you will excuse me.” 

“ There you go! What becomes now of the force 
of your reproach ? ” 

“ I meant not to accuse you, but excuse myself.” 

“ Oh, never mind what you meant; since you suc¬ 
ceeded in killing both birds, why, take the credit of 
( it. But come along, I say; ’t is a very edifying spec¬ 
tacle,—oh, vastly so ; one comes away with his spirit 
uplifted! The dirtier the feet and the lousier the 
beggar the better for the soul; besides which, all the 
fashion of the town will lend its countenance ! 

But Agnes still persisted in her refusal. 


378 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“Obstinacy, thy name is Surriage! Why, then, 
stay at home, and my blessing with you; or, what 
is better, call for the chaise and go buy some kick¬ 
shaws to send home to your mother in this American 
ship.” 

“ It — she is to sail soon ? ” 

“ Yes,” consulting a memorandum, “ hum-hum, 
hum-hum! ‘ Pathfinder,’ Monday week ; and mean¬ 

time I have to make up a box to send to Sheafe ; but 
— but I must go, or lose the sight — I must go, I say! 
What, no response yet? Heigh-ho! times change; 
you used to salute me on a much slighter occasion.” 

Despite her bustling movement there was a sound 
something like a sob as Agnes quickly left the room. 
Frankland looked after her with a momentary sur¬ 
prise ; then tossing his head with a scarcely percepti¬ 
ble motion and closing the scene with an indolent 
smile, he adjusted his hat carefully over his new 
peruke and went his way to the palace. 

The party to Cintra was made up of the confess¬ 
edly choice spirits of the English colony, — Lord 
Torksey, Sir William Winton, Dr. Outwell, Mr. 
and Mrs. Churchill, Mr. Horne, Mr. Vincent, Lady 
Betty, and others. It was strange Agnes should 
not feel at home among these merry and nimble- 
witted folks; yet it was plain enough she did 
not. Perhaps it was because she found herself 
somewhat at a loss in the cross-fire of their rail¬ 
lery, where the conversational shot and shell flew 
about so as to bewilder her. Or it might have 
been because — luckily for herself — she could not 
see the point of half their joking or understand 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


379 


the abounding allusions and innuendoes with which 
their talk was seasoned. As, moreover, she had an 
ungracious fashion of smiling only at what she ap¬ 
proved, and took no pains to conceal her disgust at 
indecency, she had as yet made small advance in 
popularity in her new home. t 

Cintra! Why attempt to tell again what has been 
told for all time! Turn backward or forward, as the 
phrase may suit, to the opening canto of “ Childe 
Harold.” A half-century more or less can make no 
difference in a spot uncursed by man’s abode. ’Tis 
the self-same picture Agnes and Frankland looked 
upon, where “ horrid crags by toppling convent 
crowned,” “ cork-trees hoar,” “ mountain mosses,” 
“ sunken glen,” “ sunless shrubs,” “ tender azure,” 
“ orange tints,” “ vine and willow branch,” 

“Mixed in one mighty scene with varied beauty glow.” 

Leaving behind the mighty scene after a fitting 
tribute of ecstasies, they pushed on over a desolate 
track to Mafra, and climbing up the steep hill which 
it so majestically crowns, came suddenly out upon the 
open square before it, and forthwith wreaked their 
breathless and undiscriminating enthusiasm upon the 
great building. 

“ Stupendous!” 

“ Amazing! ” 

“ Prodigious! ” 

“ What a magnificent church !” 

“ You mean monastery! ” 

“ Palace — palace, man. Cannot you see for your¬ 
self ’t is a palace ? ” 


880 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“And so it is,” said Lord Torksey, settling the 
dispute, “ all three in one: the two former enclosed 
in the latter. But here comes che guide, no doubt. 
Here, you fellow,” — beckoning the man, — “ come 
here and tell your story! ” 

“ This most wonderful structure in the world,” 
began the guide in his professional manner, “was 
built by John V. of Braganza, who falling sick and 
thinking himself about to die vowed, if he lived, 
to build this palace for the poorest priory in his 
kingdom.” 

“ Which he meant should outdo the Escurial,” 
interposed his lordship. 

“As indeed it does,” added Frankland, “ in every¬ 
thing but taste.” 

“ And vie with St. Peter’s itself — ” 

“And why not? St. Peter’s is nothing but a 
dome, and here is endless variety.” 

“ So there should be, since artists all over the world 
had a finger in the pie.” 

But the dispute between Lord Torksey and Frank¬ 
land was drowned in a clamor of exclamation. 

“ Mark you those colossal red columns! ” 

“And think of their being cut from a single 
block!” 

“ See, too, the enormous size of the black marble 
tablets yonder in the wall! ” 

“ And the wonderful mosaics! ” 

“ ’T is said, you know, there are six organs in the 
chapel.” 

“ But not a pane of glass in the whole structure.” 

“How monstrous odd!” 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


381 


What’s to keep the holy friars from rheumatics ? ” 
“ There are no friars! ” 

“ No monks! What’s gone with ’em ? ” 

“Put out, neck and heels! They grew so bloated 
with high living and puffed up with arrogance that 
Pombal sent them packing.” 

“ And served ’em right, — the pampered rascals! ” 
“ Before they came hither to lodge, ’t is said, the 
whole brotherhood lived.like swine in one squalid hut.” 

“Come, Sir Harry,” cried Dr. Out well, bursting in 
on the general talk after a whispering apart with the 
guide, “ tell us how far is it across to yonder corner, 
— what’s the measurement of this front in width ? ” 
“Humph!” — with a look of calculation—“five 
hundred feet or less.” 

“ Poh! ’t is nearer a thousand! ” 

“Never! ” 

“I’ll lay you something worth while,” winking 
slyly at those standing near. 

“ What you will! ” 

“ Let it be a supper, then, for the party! ” 

“ Done! ” 

“ This very night.” 

“ Agreed! ” 

“ But no, no ; I will not take your money.” 

“ Ho, ho, sir ! you withdraw ? ” 

“I will not take advantage of your youth and 
inexperience.” 

“ You are vastly considerate.” 

“To deal fair with you, I have knowledge upon 
the point.” 

u Come, sir, this stale device shall not serve you! ” 


382 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ But I assure you —” 

“ Why, for the matter of that, so have I. No, no ; 
I will not let you off.” 

“ You deserve your fate, then.” 

“ All this bravado shall not avail you.” 

“ Gentlemen, bear me witness! ” cried the Doctor, 
appealing to the party. “ I have warned him, and — ” 

“ Come, come, sir; the proof! You shall not es¬ 
cape, I say. Here, my man,” — beckoning the guide, 
— “ what’s the measurement of this facade ? ” 

“ Seven hundred and sixty feet, to a hair.” 

“ Beaten, egad ! and by a beggarly ten feet. La¬ 
dies and gentlemen,” with a profound congee, “you 
are to do me the honor of supping with me to¬ 
night ! ” 

The invitation was accepted with shouts of 
applause. 

The party returned to the city in time to sleep off 
the fatigues of the day and make a fresh toilet for 
their impromptu banquet. 

They came together accordingly in the evening, in 
high good-humor, and loudly complimented Agnes 
upon the elegant appearance of the table she had 
spread in such haste. The talk at supper naturally 
turned upon the day’s experience. 

“ I cannot but think of those poor priests turned out 
from their luxurious quarters,” said Mrs. Churchill, 
Frankland’s next neighbor at table. 

“ Yes, madam. Pombal is a bold man ; but this is 
not his first offence, — he defied the wrath of Rome 
long ago by his proceedings against the Inquisition.” 

“ I wonder he dared.” 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


383 


“ It is not Rome alone he has had to encounter,” 
spoke up Lord Torksey from the other end of the 
table. “ ’T was thought the mob would tear him to 
pieces when he put an end to the miracles in the 
churches.” 

“ But they were false miracles,” said Agnes, at his 
side ; “ and it was surely a good office to save the 
people from imposition by them.” 

“No more false than any miracles.” 

“ You forget, sir, the miracles of Holy Writ?” 

“ I do not, madam; one miracle is the same as 
another. They are all lies, cheats, and impostures.” 

Agnes looked so profoundly shocked that his lord- 
ship laughed aloud. 

“ Pardon, madam; your rueful countenance quite 
undid me I But you should read Voltaire’s account 
of a miracle. Do you remember, Sir Harry, the 
dead man brought to life after being several days 
defunct? All the gases blown away by the winds, 
the worms which have eaten the entrails have been 
eaten by swallows, the swallows by something else, 
and these again by falcons, and so on; each must 
restore that, and only that, he has taken ; and when 
all is done, nothing of any avail without the soul.” 

“ Hear, hear ! ” 

“ What now ? ” 

“ What’s his lordship at, — philosophy or po¬ 
lemics ? ” 

The exclamations came from all sides. 

“ Sound sense, whatever else you may call it,” 
said Dr. Outwell, across the table. “ Go on, sir. — 
Elsewhere your Frenchman makes another good 


384 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


point; to wit, that the more incredible your miracle 
is, the readier’t is believed. You, madam,” turning 
to Agnes, “ accept those in the Bible ? ” 

“ Most assuredly, sir.” 

“That is, you grant to the Jews a monopoly of 
doing wonders. But let me tell you, madam, other 
nations are not to be denied an equal privilege. In 
other words, all these peoples swear by their own 
tricks and lies, and discredit those of their neighbors. 
For the matter of that, the Greeks and Egyptians 
leave the Jews quite in the shade in this business of 
the miraculous; for every wonder claimed by the 
Jews, they will match it with a greater prodigy. 
They do as did a certain famous advocate to whom 
was produced a false bond; he did not trouble 
himself to plead to it, but directly produced a false 
quittance. The instance is not mine, madam, but 
Voltaire’s.” 

“ No more is the reasoning,” broke in Sir Wil¬ 
liam Winton, on the hostess’s other hand. “ ’T is 
all admirably set forth in the ‘ Essai sui les Moeurs,’ 
etc.” 

“ Your Voltaire, witty as he may be,” answered 
Agnes, stoutly, “ shall not persuade me to discredit 
anything set down in the Holy Scriptures.” 

“ Tut, tut, my dear! ” cried Frankland, a little 
flushed with wine; “you do small credit to my 
teachings. But tell these gentlemen we need not 
cross the Channel for good sense in these matters. 
Our own Bolingbroke has said many things quite as 
much to the point.” 

“ Oh, they ’re all piping to the self-same tune, are 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


385 


our great wits. Lord Chesterfield, ’t is notorious, 
holds the like views,” said Churchill. 

“And Shaftesbury too,” added Sir William. 

“ Yes,” assented Frankland, “ there is some nota¬ 
ble talk in his 4 Characteristics.’ ” 

• “ He makes a bold stand there for independence,” 
said his lordship, “ and claims that that man alone is 
free who has in himself no hindrance in doing what 
his best judgment approves.” 

“ What, sir! ” said Agnes, recoiling slightly as she 
realized the drift of the discussion, “ would you 
have me believe you a sceptic?” 

44 As Sir Harry shall define to you what a sceptic 
is, I will avow myself of the class.” 

44 A sceptic,” said Frankland, promptly, 44 is a 
philosopher who has doubted all he believes, and 
believes only what his reason has demonstrated 
true.” 

44 Fie, sir! now you are stealing thunder from 
across the Channel,” laughed the doctor; 44 ’t was but 
a minute since — ” 

44 True; I plead guilty, and must needs confess 
that while we rival our neighbors in boldness of 
thought, we come far short of their happy knack of 
putting things.” 

44 Yes, in that respect,” said Churchill , 44 Diderot dis¬ 
tances all the world; he has the knack to perfection.” 

44 That he has,” chimed in Lady Betty, interrupt¬ 
ing a whispered tete-a-tete with her host; 44 his 
4 Pens^es ’ are very jewels.” 

44 Are they not, madam ? ” cried Horne, enthusias¬ 
tically. 44 Where is ’t he says something like that 
25 


886 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


just quoted by Sir Harry — oh, very like indeed? 
A plague on my memory ! But what matter for the 
words! It was to the general effect that what one 
has never put in question has not been proved, and 
what one has not examined without prejudice has not 
been examined.” 

44 Yes,” broke in Frankland ; 44 but Diderot will 
none of your half-hearted sceptics, like Vincent yon¬ 
der, who dares not give his thoughts tongue, and is 
frighted by consequences. Pass him the bottle, and 
prod him up ! ” 

Vincent filled his glass, and retorted, — 

44 4 Incredulity is sometimes the vice of a fool, 
and credulity the fault of a man of wit.’ There’s 
another pemSe for you, and from betwixt the same 
covers.” 

“ ’T is time for all this fine sentiment to develop 
into action,” cried Lord Torksey, rising with a brim¬ 
ming glass and a vinous bravado of manner. 44 Here’s 
a long life to Reason, and a speedy downfall to priests 
and churches ! ” 

44 What, sir! ” gasped Agnes; “ would you put an 
end to churches ? ” 

44 With all my heart! What are they but machines 
of superstition ? ” 

“Pray you, sir,” interposed Lady Betty, “make 
an exception of the dear Catholic churches, which on 
great occasions are as diverting as a playhouse. By 
the bye, Sir Harry, to-morrow is All Saints, when the 
performance is like to be excellent; what say you, 
shall we go ? — always with your leave, madam,’ 
bowing with mock deference to Agnes. 


A GAY CAPITAL. 


387 


“ Sir Harry needs not my permission to go where 
he will; else, be assured, madam, he would never go 
to a Christian church to make sport ot the service.” 

“ Fie, fie, my dear ! Spare me before my guests ! 
You may see now, ladies,” — winking at those near¬ 
est at hand, — “ where I come by the store of virtue 
for which I am so justly admired! ” 

“ Pray you, madam, suffer him to unbend ! ” 

“I warrant you he shall do nothing so very 
wicked! ” 

“Nay, I’ll engage he shall be better than half 
them that go to pray! ” 

“ Which would you rather, madam, that he were — 
a scoffer, or a hypocrite ? ” 

“ I would have him man enough not to be prevailed 
upon by evil counsels to do what his conscience 
approves not,” answered Agnes in her sonorous con¬ 
tralto, and with unmistakable emphasis. 

“Tut! tut!” 

“ Fie ! fie ! ” 

“ Heyday ! ” 

A chorus of deprecation arose from the table. 

“ How are we paid for our levity ! ” cried Lady 
Betty, with an affectation of dismay. “ I swear to 
you, there is not enough of me remaining to fill a snuff¬ 
box. ’Tis no marvel it has so silenced Sir Harry 
that he has no answer to my invitation.” 

“ On the contrary, I shall tempt fate by accept¬ 
ing it. At what hour shall I wait upon your lady¬ 
ship ? ” 

“ In time for the High Mass at ten o’clock, for then 
the pageant will be at its height.” 


388 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Agreed,” said Frankland, not without a sly look 
askance at Agnes. “ But how is this ? nobody drink¬ 
ing ! Fill up! fill up ! and let us have a toast! ” 

“I — allow me, Sir Harry — I have a toast,” cried 
a young man whose utterance proved the host’s 
reproach to be unjust. 

“ Hear, hear ! ” 

“ I say — saints have ruled th’ roast long enough. 
I say — down with saints ’n’ up with sinners —• 
Here’s — er — here’s to All Sinners’ Day ! ” 

The company had reached that happy stage when 
this readily passed muster as humor, and was greeted 
with uproarious applause. 

“ Have a care, sir, that you are not tempted into 
impiety,” said Agnes, as the speaker resumed his seat. 

Flushed with the success of his toast, the young 
man stared stupidly at her, collecting himself for a 
reply, when Sir William came to his aid. 

“ Faith, and so you will, tell our fair hostess, when 
she shall accomplish what the great Diderot quailed 
before, and define impiety, — consider the quandary, 
madam, — ‘ The Christian is impious in Asia, the Mus¬ 
sulman in Europe, the Papist in London, the Calvin¬ 
ist at Paris, the Jansenist at the head of Rue St. 
Jacques, the Moliniste at the bottom of the Fau¬ 
bourg St. M6dard.’ ” 

“ Sir, I have neither the skill nor learning to dis¬ 
pute with you; but one may easily escape all imputa¬ 
tion of the sort by a due regard for sacred things.” 

“ And who shall say what is sacred ? The Dog 
Anubis would claim as little homage here as th« 
respectable personages of the Trinity in Egypt.” 


A GAY CAPITAL . 


389 


u Shame! For shame, sir! I will hear no more 
such blasphemy! ” cried Agnes, starting from her 
seat in horror and indignation. 

“ Fie ! fie ! my dear, how peevish you are to night! 
Come, sit you down, and show these ladies and gen¬ 
tlemen that you have too much good sense to take 
offence at a harmless pleasantry uttered at your own 
table! ” 

“ Why, madam, I am sure I had rather cut my 
tongue out than have vexed you so ! ” 

“ And I, believe me ! ” 

“ I had no thought but that we were all of one 
kind here to-night.” 

“ Praj'-, Sir Harry, promise the dear lady we will 
offend no more in that fashion ! ” 

“ And that I will release you from going to Mass 
to-morrow if, as is most likely, that be the real cause 
of her vexation,” said Lady Betty, joining the chorus 
of disclaimers. 

For all answer, Agnes made a dignified courtesy 
to the expostulating circle and withdrew, Frankland 
hastening after to open the door and whisper a last 
remonstrance in her ear. 

A burst of laughter followed her as she went up¬ 
stairs to her own room. Thence, having gone to 
bed, she heard the merriment below wax more and 
more uproarious, and at last die gradually away in 
a vague uproar as she fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

ALL SAINTS’ DAY. 


HE morrow came, — a day to lure all the saints 



A back to earth, to hear into what surprising 
favor they were grown in the places where once they 
were scourged, tortured, hanged, and roasted alive. 
The white walls of Lisbon shone with dazzling radi¬ 
ance in the morning sun. Turret and spire from 
church, convent, and palace rose in glittering relief 
against a cloudless sky. Under a surface dead and 
shining as glass the Tagus hid its swift, resistless, sea¬ 
ward flow. Far off to the southwest, like a deep-blue 
zone against the paler sky, lay the sleeping ocean, 
sending inland a faint and fickle breath to stir the 
perfume from the late-blooming roses in the royal 
gardens at Alcantara, or shake out the blue-and- 
white banner above the turrets of St. George. 

No serener day ever dawned upon fair and filthy 
Lisbon ; nor did the sun in all his endless round look 
down upon such another whited sepulchre. Here 
dwelt, cheek by jowl, in comfortable neighborhood, 
magnificence and squalor, — a picturesque pair, each 
much beholden to the other. Not a year before, the 
keen-eyed Fielding, who was far from fastidious, 
called the fair capital of Portugal “ the nastiest city 
in the world.” It need only be added that his 


ALL SAINTS' DAY. 


391 


standard of comparison was the London of the eigh¬ 
teenth century. Saint Sanitas was plainly not yet 
of the calendar; for hard by the splendid churches 
in which was preparing the gorgeous ceremonial of 
High Mass on that All Saints’ morning were hundreds 
of dark, narrow, unpaved streets, in which lay muck 
and ordure ankle-deep, in which lay heaps of offal, 
foul rags, rotten bones, and all uncleanness. Amid 
it all little children played, — foul little darlings 
with tangled hair, and faces incrusted with dirt, — 
sucking in, as their native air, the noxious stenches 
which rose to pollute the wholesome breath of 
heaven. 

But what then! The stench did not reach his 
Majesty in his palace yonder surrounded by rose- 
gardens. His hands were not begrimed with dirt, 
but washed white in perfumed water, loaded with 
rings, and hung with lace; yet for all his silken hose, 
it is much to be doubted whether even his Majesty’s 
feet were clean. 

As for Pombal, he had his hands too full with the 
Jesuits and the Inquisition to bother his head with 
scavenging. Who had ever heard of a statesman 
concerning himself with dirt ? If an epidemic came, 
why, it had pleased the dear God to send it, and 
Masses must be said, and offerings to Our Lady of 
Safety, to quiet the people. Meantime everybody 
was happy ; the children laughed at their gambols in 
the muck, the carrion-fly buzzed above the offal, and 
the sun bred maggots in the seething mass. 

Everybody was happy, and grudged not to show 
it; with their holiday humor they put on their holi- 


892 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


day dress,—drooping hats and cavalier cloaks for 
the men, gay bodices, heavy ear-rings, and the long- 
tasselled redecilla for the women. How gayly they 
laughed and chattered on their way to Mass, as they 
picked their steps without a sniff of disgust in and 
out among the rubbish, slime, and puddles! 

Lady Betty slept late that morning. It was broad 
day when her maid pulled aside the curtains. But 
although this was according to her own express direc¬ 
tions, her ladyship was inclined to be peevish, and 
swore roundly at the abigail for disturbing her. In¬ 
deed, as a matter of fact her ladyship had not been 
long in bed, and must naturally have felt somewhat 
jaded after her carouse of the night before. 

Ordering breakfast to be served among her pil¬ 
lows, she restored the tone of her spirits by a dash 
of eau-de-vie in her dish of tea, and submitted her¬ 
self at length in somewhat better temper to the 
hands of her maid. 

The maid—poor woman! —had a grievous task, and 
exhausted all the resources of her art in the endeavor 
to make anything presentable of the wrinkled and 
haggard face before her. By dint, however, of plas¬ 
tering a double coat of rouge upon the saffron 
cheeks, touching up the lips and eyebrows, and add¬ 
ing one or two supplementary patches here and there, 
she produced a result which, however unlike anything 
human or natural, stood the test of the broad glare 
of light in which Lady Betty herself, with a look of 
no little satisfaction, criticised it. 

This chief labor of the toilet done, the rest was 
simple enough; and accordingly in a few minutes 


ALL SAINTS' DAY. 


393 


more, arrayed in her fine Paris gown and dainty 
French shoes, equipped with her fan, her snuff-box, 
her smelling-salts, and an enveloping aroma of civet, 
Lady Betty was ready to encounter the world. 

Frankland was already sitting in his chaise at the 
door when she came down. He, too, lacked some¬ 
thing of his wonted freshness. His eyes were dim 
and his air a little heavy; but he was speedily ral¬ 
lied into a livelier expression by the archness of his 
companion. 

“ Good Lord, sir ! I am extremely shocked to have 
kept you waiting. I will not, however, inquire how 
long it hath been, lest it unsettle my nerves.” 

“ I am but just arrived, madam.” 

“ A pretty fib! ” 

“ I protest.” 

“ So much the better; for the thought of losinf 
one minute of such society — ” 

“ Tut, tut! ” 

“ I swear to you, ten minutes’ such loss would fill 
the day with misery! But how does madam this 
morning ? Has she forgiven our pranks ? Ha! ha! 
ha! Poor puss! How could she be other than 
jealous of such a man ? ” 

“ Your ladyship flatters me. But there you are 
wrong. Miss Surriage’s spleen was not on my ac¬ 
count. I wish it had been ! No, no; odd as it may 
seem, she is sincerely pious.” 

“ What! after all these years in such company?” 

“ Egad! I have tried hard enough to cure her of it ** 
“ And she has been curing you, instead ? ” 

“Eh?” 


394 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“Ha! ha! ha!” 

“ Come, you shall explain ! ” 

“ Do you know, sir, — O Lord, I am like to burst 
with laughing! — you yourself are suspected of piety 
— ha! ha! ha!” 

“ I, madam ? ” 

“ Ay, ay ; another year among those Puritan 
whiners would have spoiled you.” 

“ How now; am I not saucy enough to suit you ? ” 

“ You are but half-hearted in your sport. Many 
are of the opinion that a most enchanting rake was 
lost in you.” 

“ I shall take care the opinion spreads no further.” 

“Fie, fie, sir! Unhold me! We are very public 
here; who knows but we may meet madam herself 
on the way to church ? ” 

“ No, no; we are safe from her. But what if we 
did ? I am my own man, I hope! ” 

“ Why, to be frank with you, ’tis whispered not.” 

“ As how ? ” 

“ That you are tied very securely to the sly Puri¬ 
tan’s apron-string.” 

Frankland blushed with vexation, and bit his lip. 
His companion laughed aloud. 

“ And is that said of me ? ” 

“ Indeed is it.” 

“ Why, I will disprove it by spending this very 
evening with your ladyship. Shall it be a party of 
two, or more ? ” 

“ Two, by all the saints we celebrate, — such 
another chance may never offer itself. But madam 
will hate me.” 


ALL SAINTS' DAY. 


395 


“ She need not know.” 

“ Then you are afraid to tell ? ” 

“ Not I; ’t was but to shield your ladyship.” 

“ Oh, I have not yet reached that pitch of awe of 
her! ” 

“Very good, then. I will acquaint her of my 
whereabouts. But where shall we sup ? ” 

“ At my lodgings, if you can make them serve the 
occasion.” 

“ Agreed ; I shall be with you ! ” 

“ Do look, sir, how the streets are swarming! I 
have never, in all my stay here, seen such a press; 
and all — poor fools! — on the way to church.” 

“ What is the magnet draws them ?” 

“ Why, partly the show, of course, as in our case; 
but chiefly, they would pray for their sins. To-day 
there is a chance of getting all these dead saints o* 
their side to say prayers in their behalf. Lord, sir! 
to what good is all this genuflection? What had 
you ever yet in answer to your prayers ? ” 

“ I have wasted no breath that way these late 
years.” 

“ Nor I, — ha! ha! ha! My maid — silly wench! — 
affects to pray for me; but my sins were long ago 
past my own poor skill in reckoning; yet I do not 
see but we fare as well — you and I — as this sort 
who are forever mumbling prayers. Why, I should 
have no time for my picquet, my airings, my balls, 
suppers, and innocent flirtations, if I were to give 
way to this longing for prayer, — ha ! hat — ” 

The lively lady suddenly stopped. Her cheek 
blanched, even through the rouge. 


396 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


u What was that ? ” 

“ 6 That ? ’” 

Before there was time for an answer, a violent 
shock sent them both from their seats. Lady Betty 
shrieked, and clutched Frankland so that he could 
not rise from his knees. 

There was an awful pause of thirty seconds, — to 
the appalled city it might have been thirty years. 
Then the solid earth rose beneath their feet, — rose 
and fell like the waves of the sea. Dizziness seized 
the brain. The sky whirled about like a teetotum. 
The universe seemed turned topsy-turvy, and the 
bonds of universal matter unloosed. 

With ashen face and glaring eyes Frankland saw in 
his delirium the tall spire of the Cathedral rock to its 
base and fall in a mass of ruins upon the serried thou¬ 
sands within its doors. Everywhere towers, spires, 
and turrets sank crumbling to the ground, and the air 
was filled with an infernal roar of falling walls. 

A sudden cry of “ Kaya! Kaya! ” arose in the 
street. It awoke Frankland to life and energy. 
Seizing the reins from the paralyzed driver, he turned 
the horse to the river, where the great quay, clear 
of surrounding buildings, offered a haven of safety. 
Hundreds besides themselves had heard the cry and 
were hurrying thither. It was already crowded when 
they came in sight. They might yet be in time — 
there was still space for more — a few yards only 
intervened — they were rushing on at frantic speed, 
when — they were stopped by a fearful sight. 

Before their eyes the massive pier, loaded with its 
myriad shrieking, praying victims, turned slowly 


ALL SAINTS' DAY. 397 

over and sank to unfathomable depths below the 
quicksands. 

Mate and dumb before the dread cataclysm, the 
hapless human creatures, like half-drowned flies, 
crawled in the dust awaiting their fate. Mother 
Earth had turned to a devouring fiend. There 
seemed but one refuge left; they turned with faint 
hope to the sea. Even as they looked, that hope 
changed to despair within them. The deep current 
of the Tagus was sucked up in a moment, leaving 
the broad bed of the river dry. Great ships were 
swept out to sea ; others, whirling round and round 
like spinning-tops, dived out of sight in the swirl of 
waters. Another moment, and a despairing cry arose 
from the crowd: — 

“ The sea ! the sea !” 

The great Atlantic seemed indeed to have risen. 
Far off a mighty wall of water was seen moving 
slowly inland. 

The last vestige of hope and courage died in 
Frankland’s heart. He sat limp and nerveless, watch¬ 
ing the oncoming flood quite unconscious, as it seemed, 
of the wretched creature who still clung to him, the 
foam of madness upon her painted lip, babbling of God 
and mercy. 

The horse alone, with the instinct of preservation 
not yet extinct in him, whirled about with a wild 
snort and dashed back into the thick of the town. 

Amid the ruins of fallen buildings, over the 
dead and dying, through the blinding dust which 
blotted out the sun and made darkness of noonday, 
he plunged on, unguided in his frantic course. 


398 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


Suddenly the earth became still. As if with intel¬ 
ligent and devilish malice she yielded for a moment 
to the normal sway of gravitation. It was but for 
the briefest space. Before the poor people could 
shake off their dizziness, could look around and 
study chances of escape, — before they could do any- 
thing but hug to their heart a false, deluding hope, 
she broke loose again from the control of law and 
brought back chaos and anarchy. 

The horse stopped. A great heap of ruins barred 
his way. There was a movement in the air. Frank- 
land looked up. A dark mass tottered above them. 

“ Almighty God have mercy ! ” 

The cry was wrung from him. He saw that the 
end had come. Lady Betty, in the last, futile, aim¬ 
less struggle against her impending doom, caught his 
arm in her mouth and sank her teeth through into 
the living flesh. The next moment, with a roar of 
thunder, the mass descended and overwhelmed them 
in its ruins. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

COALS OF FIRE. 


S TARTLED by the first shock of the earthquake, 
Agnes rushed forth into the street. The house 
sank into a shapeless ruin behind her. A creature 
and an animal, she obeyed an animal instinct and 
cowered before the awful convulsion. Stock-still 
she stood, and gazed upon the wide desolation : saw 
the day change, in a moment, to night; saw death 
overtake every living thing about her, yet, held fast 
as in the horrid paralysis of nightmare, dumbly 
awaited her turn. 

Well is it for humanity that such a strain cannot 
last, —that hope will skirmish in the very face of dan¬ 
ger, and custom stale even extremest terror. With 
returning self-possession the first impulse was still 
animal and purely selfish, — the impulse of escape. 

This was not for long ; directly another impulse 
came, — came as visibly as lightning athwart a 
thunder-cloud. Straightway she was transfigured. 
The new thought possessed her wholly, driving out 
every vestige of fear and any meaner motive. 

Everything is equally miraculous to the deep¬ 
going student. To the vulgar there are miracles and 
miracles, with the difference that some do not stir the 
blood. Here is one that should, — this spectacle of 


400 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


a commonplace mortal sweeping in a trice from the 
lowest note to the highest in the gamut of being. 
No old-fashioned stock heroine of history ever struck 
more surely or rang forth more clearly her alt limit 
of range. 

Now, for all their influence upon her, the accu¬ 
mulated horrors were as so many stage effects in the 
cosmic melodrama. They were as they were not. 
She was beyond their reach — unconscious. To 
whomsoever can realize it, such sublimity in an 
earthworm may well confirm a wavering faith in 
immortality. 

Insensible henceforth to every danger, — the falling 
walls, the rush of the frantic crowd, the wild tramp 
of runaway horses, — she made her slow way to the 
Cathedral. The once stately pile lay before her a 
monstrous and unsightly heap of rubbish. She stood 
staring in bewilderment, doubting the evidence of 
her own senses, when a sudden cry arose from the 
crowd, —- 

“ Fogo ! Fogo ! ” 

Too true it proved. The last fell element had 
been let loose upon the doomed city. For once the 
fires, kindled upon the altars, were glutted with sac¬ 
rifice, as with hungry flaming tongues they revelled 
amid the ruins, and drank the blood of the shriek¬ 
ing victims beneath. Agnes turned shuddering from 
the sickening holocaust, and clinging to a forlorn 
hope set out to find Lady Betty’s lodgings. 

The darkness, the destruction of all landmarks, 
the wild confusion of the streets, brought her to a 
stand-still. Realizing presently the impossibility of 


COALS OF FIRE. 


401 


making her way through streets where at best she 
was but little acquainted, she stopped and looked 
helplessly about. At this moment there was a move¬ 
ment in the crowd. As by a common impulse, they 
all began rushing in one direction. The whispered 
word “ Kaya ” — whispered with a selfish but futile 
attempt at concealment — came to her ears. She 
tried to escape, but was borne along in the press. 

Directly came the second shock of earthquake, — 
came, not in short, quick tremblings, as before, but 
with a long sideway roll, like a ground-swell at sea. 
With one accord the crowd flung themselves upon 
the ground and poured forth frenzied prayers to the 
Virgin. 

“ Misericordia ! Misericordia! ” The air resounded 
with the hoarse and impotent cry. 

Reeling with vertigo, Agnes saw somewhere before 
her dizzied senses the vision of a flying chaise, a fall¬ 
ing building. She stretched out her hands and made 
a drunken movement to go toward it, but was pulled 
down by the maddened crowd. 

“ See the heretic ! she will not pray ! ” 

“ ’Tis the heretics are the cause of it.” 

“ The city is overrun with them, and God is curs¬ 
ing us! ” 

“ Misericordia! Misericordia! ” 

“ Down with her! ” 

“ To your knees, she-devil! ” 

“Let her not escape! ” 

“ Misericordia! Misericordia! ” 

“ She shall pray ! ” 

“ Make her kiss the cross! ” 


402 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ Misericordia ! Misericordia! ” 

Foreseeing a movement of violence, Agnes made p 
vain effort to escape. She was caught and dragged 
back. 

“ Kneel! kneel, foul witch ! ” 

“ Thrust her down ! ” 

44 Kneel, unbelieving devil! ” 

“ ’T is you are the cause of it! 99 
“ Toss her in the fire! ” 

44 Nay ; give her the cross to kiss! — if she refuse, 
then the flames ! 99 

Frantic with eagerness to pursue her search, and 
thinking only of escape, Agnes fervently kissed the 
cross, muttered an incoherent prayer, and was at 
length suffered to go. 

Again the earth became still. With recovered 
equilibrium she started forth. That buried chaise! 
where had she seen it, — to the north, south, east, or 
west ? Under which of all these heaps of ruins did 
it lie ? But why search ? Among the hundreds of 
buried vehicles, why waste time — precious time, 
whose loss might be fatal—upon that special chaise ? 

In this doubt and anxiety she groped her way dis¬ 
tractedly amid the darkness and choking dust from 
ruin to ruin. In vain; in the universal waste there 
was no guide, no trace. Despairing, she called aloud 
the name of Frankland. Up and down among the 
masses of rubbish she went, repeating the cry, her clear 
strong voice resounding above the nearer tumult. 

Stopping, with strained ears, to listen, she heard a 
feeble moaning near at hand. What then! There 
was moaning and groaning on every side. She bent 


COALS OF FIRE. 


m 


over the nearest pile of rubbish, and waited with 
bated heart and breath. Again it came, — plainly 
from beneath. To this side and that with frantic 
haste she flung the heavy bricks and stones. The 
perspiration fell from her face like rain; the dust 
blinded and choked her; the nails and splinters tore 
her arms till they streamed with blood. Unheeding 
all, she plied her task. She dug as a hunted animal 
digs for life. The moans became more distinct. 
Presently she made an opening. 

“ Frankland ! Frankland!” 

“ Agnes ! 99 

“ ’T is you — God be praised! Courage! courage! 
Keep up your heart; I will save you ! ” 

“ Air ! air! ” 

“ Yes — yes — one minute ! You shall have it! ” 

Again she flew upon the rubbish as upon a mortal 
enemy, flinging out mortar, splinters, nails, and broken 
glass with infuriated zeal. 

“Now — there ! Can you breathe ? Harry ! 
darling! do you hear me?” 

“ Yes — ye-es! ” 

“ Courage — wait then! — a few minutes — I will 
save you! ” 

Working at her task with might and main, pausing 
now and then to speak a comforting word to the 
prisoner, she came at length upon the heavy timbers 
of the roof interlaced and wedged together in such 
a ponderous mass above him that all her efforts to 
move them were in vain. 

“ Harry — these timbers — I cannot move them. 
I must go for help ! ” 


404 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


“ No, no; do not leave me ! ” 

“ Only for a minute! ” 

“ Do not — do not go ! I cannot live ; it is of no 
use. My time is come I ” 

“ You shall — you must live! I will save you ! — 
Wait! wait! and be patient! ” 

“ Stay! stay, Agnes! Agnes, darling, do not go 
you’ll never come back. The earth will swallow 
you — will swallow us both. The sea is rolling in! 
The Judgment-Day has come — speak, darling! ” 

“ I am here ! ” 

“ Say — say while I can hear you — say before it 
is too late — ” 

“ What shall I say?” 

“ That you forgive me — ” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” 

“ All my wrong, — my cruel wrong against you ! ” 
“I do ; I do — all, everything — But oh — oh, 
darling ! — ’t is not for a sinful creature like me to for¬ 
give. Pray to God! pray to Him while I am gone I ” 

“ Agnes ! — Agnes! — ” 

The piteous cry rang in her ears as she darted 
away. 

Flinging herself in the thick of the throng, she 
cried aloud for help. She might as well have called 
upon the winds. Men and women, — they were a 
herd of animals under the sway of one craven in¬ 
stinct. By such as were calm enough to listen, her 
absurd request was laughed to scorn. 

“ For pity — for mercy’s sake, if ye be men! See ! 
’t is here ; ’t is but a moment, to lift a beam — he will 
die! Help! help!” 


COALS OF FIRE. 


405 


A foreign woman, babbling idiocy, she was thrust 
aside and trampled upon by the fighting, struggling 
crowd. 

“ Gold! gold ! I have money; I will make you 
rich ! A thousand moidores — ten thousand — ten 
thousand gold moidores to him will aid me! ” 

Throwing herself again into the press, she darted 
from man to man as their faces held out promise of 
success. But greed, for the moment, was stifled. A 
fiercer and overmastering passion held sway. Her 
magnificent offers were spurned by the beggars of 
the streets. 

Finding her efforts vain, back she rushed for one 
more trial of her unaided strength. Useless, as be¬ 
fore ; she could not budge the heavy beams an inch. 
Again she flew away for help. 

Some sailors were passing in the crowd; she 
plucked one of them by the sleeve: — 

“ Help ! help ! Ten thousand moidores — broad 
gold moidores — for a moment’s help! ” 

The man flung her off with a brutal oath; she 
staggered, and fell against his companion. The latter 
put out his arm to catch her. 

“ Job!” 

“ Ag! ” 

“ God ha’ sent ye. Quick, quick, mon! Lend a 
hond I ” 

“Wher-r?” 

u Her-r’s one buried. An he be not dead, oi ha* 
hopes to save him!” 

He turned and followed her several paces, then 
stopped; a dark look of suspicion and hatred settled 


406 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


down upon his face. She saw his thought in a flash. 
It was no time for equivocation. She told the truth 
at a fatal risk. 

“ Ay, ay, — ’t is he ; oi ’ll not deceive ye. He ha’ 
wr-ronged ye, ’n’ oi ha’ wr-ronged ye, ’n’ ha’ paid a 
heavy pr-rice for ’t, too. Oh, Job, Job! ’T is no 
toime to horbor-r gr-rudges i’ this awfu’ moment! ” 

She held him clutched by the arm and gazed 
breathlessly into his face. 

“ Job! Job, mon ! we stond wher’ th’ earth may 
open ’n’ swallow us the next minute. Job, oi say, 
speak! Say ye forgi’ me ! say ye forgi’ him ! ” 

“ ’T is God’s busness! ” he muttered, with an 
awed and humbled look. 

“ Haste, haste, then ! This way, mon! Ye wor a 
giant i’ th’ old days; an yer strength ha’ not failed, 
we ’ll save him yet! ” 

Powerful as Job was, the task before him strained 
every nerve in his stalwart frame. The heavy tim¬ 
bers were still half mortised together. He worked 
with a fierce will and determination, aided and urged 
on by t ae impatient woman at his side. Lifting a 
massive beam, he at length made an opening through 
which Agnes reached down and clutched the suffer¬ 
ing man. 

About to drag him forth, she was stayed by a 
ghastly sight. Lady Betty’s lifeless figure, crushed 
almost beyond recognition, lay in the way. Nerving 
herself to the task, Agnes gently moved aside the 
body of the hapless woman, and at last, with the 
strength of hope and love, dragged forth the bruised 
and wounded man to the outer air. His wig gone, 


COALS OF FIRE. 


407 


his face bruised, his rich dress covered with lime and 
dust, there was nothing but his voice to identify him. 
Half leading, half carrying him between them, Agnes 
and Job followed in the wake of the crowd, intent 
like them upon quitting the ruined city by the near¬ 
est way. 

An hour’s hard tramp brought them to the open 
country. They were amazed to find it still day. 
The sun was blazing in mid-heaven. Ages seemed 
to have passed since that sun had risen. The pure 
air, the green trees and herbage, the singing birds, 
made their recent experience seem like an escape 
from Pandemonium. Placing Frankland upon the soft 
grass, Agnes tenderly brushed the dust from his face, 
and gazing a moment to assure herself that he was 
indeed living, burst into a hysterical fit of weeping. 

Frankland was too exhausted to console her; Job 
made no attempt. Leaning against a neighboring 
tree, he gazed back upon the burning town with a 
stern and stolid look. 

Recovering from her emotion, Agnes awoke to the 
situation. With characteristic energy, she began to 
discuss further measures for their safety and relief. 
Job listened in silence ; the wounded man heard, 
and made a movement to speak. She leaned over 
him anxiously. 

“ Morley’s ! ” he whispered hoarsely. 

Agnes understood at once. Morley was a friend 
who had a country-seat a few miles from town. She 
drew Job aside to consult as to the best means of 
getting there, when Frankland called. She hastened 
to him. He was fumbling for his pocket. She saw 


408 


AGNES SURR1AGE. 


his intent, and drew out her own purse. Pressing It 
upon Job, she sent him off to find some means of 
conveyance. 

He was gone an hour, and came back leading an 
ass, for which he had paid an exorbitant price. 
Meantime Agnes had learned from stragglers and 
fugitives the wildest rumors from the town. The 
criminals had escaped from prison, and bands of 
ruffians were roaming the countryside, robbing and 
murdering all who fell into their clutches. 

Filled with new fears, she hastened their depart¬ 
ure. In her uncertainty as to the locality, they 
were several hours in reaching their destination. 
The house was already filled with panic-stricken 
refugees when they arrived, but their kind-hearted 
host took them in with warmest welcome. 

Frankland, who meantime had somewhat recovered 
from the shock he had sustained, bespoke a place for 
Job. The latter curtly refused the hospitality. 

Presently Agnes was called away to make some 
provision for their accommodation. Left alone with 
the rough stranger, and realizing his great obligation 
to him, Frankland feebly attempted to express his 
gratitude. Job listened with impatience, and an¬ 
swered bluntly,— 

“ Spare yer thonks ! Ye moight ha’ died yonder, 
for a’ o’ me ! ” 

Frankland regarded his benefactor with natural 
perplexity. 

“ ’T was for her oi ha’ done it. Gi’ yer thonks to 
her! ” 

“ At least I owe you my life — ” 


COALS OF FIRE. 


409 


“ Ye owe it to her, oi say,” said Job, fiercely, “ and 
God Almighty deal wi’ ye as ye remember it! ” 

“Amen!” groaned the conscience-stricken man, 
overawed by the unexpected rebuke. 

There was a silence of several moments, when Job 
made a move to go. 

“ Hold! you shall not go without leaving me your 
name. Willingly or unwillingly you have saved my 
life ; I shall not forget it. I am in no condition to 
reward you now, but I shall not forget it. I will 
have an eye to your welfare, and if I live you shall 
have your deserts. Meantime, my good fellow, take 
this ! I wish it was more, but’t is all I have at the 
moment! ” 

Agnes entered at the moment and heard the con¬ 
cluding words. She sprang forward, thrust back the 
proffered purse, and turned toward Job with a pallid 
face and'deprecating gesture. 

Plainly it was well for Frankland that he had not 
spoken these words in health and vigor. The rough 
sailor cast upon him a look of immeasurable disdain, 
and without a word strode from the room. 

“Job — Job! ” cried Agnes, rushing after him, “ ye 
will not go without a word to me! Job — Job, oi 
say! ” 

But his form was already lost in the gathering 
darkness, and the sound of his heavy footsteps smote 
with remorseless impact on her heart. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


JUSTICE. 

B RISTLING with quaint architectural details, the 
picturesque old castle of Belem stands mid¬ 
stream upon a rock near the mouth of the Tagus. 
Scarcely two miles from Lisbon, it yet escaped, as by 
a miracle, the fate of that city. From its lofty bat¬ 
tlements the dismayed King witnessed the destruction 
of his capital. “ Here I am,” he wrote gloomily to 
his sister, “ a King without a capital, without sub¬ 
jects, without raiment.” Poor, royal puppet! the last 
touch is characteristic. 

Stunned and shocked, his demoralized followers 
gathered about their leader. With eyes wide opened 
to their late frivolity and wickedness, and accepting 
the earthquake as a direct punishment for their sins, 
they made haste to put on an outward and ill-fitting 
repentance. Giving up for the moment their disso¬ 
lute practices, they abated the splendor of their garb, 
forsook the theatres and bull-fights, and thronged the 
churches. 

Hither came also the remnant of the English 
colony. Friends and kindred lost and homes de¬ 
stroyed, they met with heavy hearts and humbled 
looks. 


JUSTICE. 


411 


Finding no longer any solace in the brilliant but 
arid philosophy of Bolingbroke, Voltaire, and Mes¬ 
sieurs the Encyclopedists, they got out their neglected 
prayer-books and conned again the rubric of the 
derided faith of their fathers. 

No sally of wit or clever scoffing now enlivened 
their gatherings; they met in tears and silence, save 
for condolings over their mutual losses and bereave¬ 
ments. The fact that from day to day faint trem¬ 
blings of the earth were still apparent may have been 
a potent factor in their state of spiritual abasement. 

There, with the rest, established in cramped and 
makeshift lodgings, were Agnes and Frankland. Al¬ 
though the latter was found to have sustained no 
serious physical harm, he was slow in recovering. 
He had at least been badly shaken up. But severe 
as had been the shock to his nerves, it was nothing, 
as presently appeared, to a more tremendous shock 
he had otherwise received. Agnes noted with con¬ 
cern a change in him, — a subversive change. He 
was sobered to the core. He passed days in speech¬ 
less meditation. Nothing availed to woo back the 
old gay smile to his lips. His watchful nurse broke 
in upon this abstraction with repeated attempts at 
cheer or solace. He noted her intent and feebly 
strove to rally, or more frequently folded her in his 
arms and gazed into her eyes with a pathetic ten¬ 
derness which thrilled while it puzzled and pained 
her. 

One morning, soon after he was able to go about, he 
called for writing materials and spent the day at his 
desk. He seemed to be making up a long-neglected 


412 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


correspondence. Despite all expostulation, he stuck 
to a task plainly beyond his strength. He arose 
in the evening exhausted. Seating himself wearily in 
the window, he called Agnes to him. She went and 
knelt at his side. 

“ My darling, I want to tell you what I have been 
doing.” 

“ You have been working too hard.” 

“ It is something which nearly concerns you.” 

“ Does n’t everything you do concern me ? ” she 
asked, with an affectionate smile. 

“ I have invited a great many people to come and 
see you.” 

She strove to suppress a puzzled look. 

“ Many, no doubt, you will not care to see.” 

Her face brightened directly; here was a sign of 
reviving interest in life and the world; she made 
haste to encourage it. 

“ Whoever’t will please you to have come, be sure 
I will make welcome.” 

“ But’t is best for you they should come ; for 
your sake I could wish all who have ever seen or 
heard of you should be here.” 

Agnes looked concerned ; this talk seemed a little 
wandering. 

“You do not understand,” he said, reading her 
face. “ ’T is no wonder you do not; read, then, fol 
yourself! ” 

He unfolded and spread before her one of the notes 
he had been writing, and instinctively turned away 
his head. Several moments he sat thus, staring from 
the window with a look as if awaiting some move- 


JUSTICE. 418 

merit on her part. She did not speak. There was a 
profound and breathless silence in the room. 

Turning at length, he beheld her upturned face 
close to his, the sunset light falling like a halo about 
her head, her eyes shining with a glorified beauty 
through the tears of love and gratitude which, stream¬ 
ing forth, flooded her face. 

And not a word was spoken. 

Next morning the principal English residents and 
many of the native nobility, as well as certain high 
officials at Court, received cards of invitation request¬ 
ing the honor of their attendance at the marriage of 
Sir Charles Henry Frankland, Bart., and Miss Agnes 
Surriage, both of Hopkinton, America. 

A day or two before the appointed time Agnes 
came to Frankland with the request that an effort be 
made to discover Job and bid him to the wedding. 
With a passing look of surprise Frankland assented. 
But Agnes was not through. She had something else 
to tell. Simply and without reserve, then, she related 
the history of Job’s life and disappointment, and her 
own connection with it. 

Frankland heard for the first time, and with the deep¬ 
est interest, the story of the man whose path he had 
so unconsciously crossed. Let it be taken as character¬ 
istic of him, or incidental to his mood, that he directly 
set on foot a vigorous search to discover Job’s where¬ 
abouts. The attempt was the more hopeless from the 
fact that no trace could be found of the American 
ship, nor could it be ascertained whether she had 
escaped or been destroyed. No stone, however, was 


414 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


left unturned; messengers were sent to make in* 
quiries among the sailors, and as a last resort Agnes 
herself caused messages to be left at every place where 
he could be expected to turn up. All efforts, how¬ 
ever, seemed fruitless ; up to the eve of the wedding- 
day no tidings had been heard of the missing man. 

The eventful morning at last came. The story of 
Frankland’s rescue, the fame of Agnes’s beauty and 
devotion, had spread far and near. The act of repa¬ 
ration, moreover, was so in keeping with the spirit 
of the hour, that long before the time appointed the 
magnificent church was thronged, not only with the 
invited guests, but by the general public, by whom 
the wedding was hailed as the first joyous omen after 
a night of horrors. 

At another time, or upon a different occasion, 
Agnes would have been abashed in presence of the 
unexpected concourse. Now, it might have been the 
old meeting-house at Marblehead, or the Commis¬ 
sary’s little chapel at Hopkinton, for all she heeded of 
the surroundings. Her face wore the serene calm of 
a Sister of Charity ; her dress was almost as simple. 

A Roman Catholic priest performed the service. 
All creeds and ceremonials were then as one. God 
was the real priest, and consecrated the intent which 
was the essence of the sacrament. 

Passing down the long aisle on the arm of her 
husband, with the rich light falling upon her bowed 
head, the benison of the priest still resounding in 
her ears mingled with the joyous pealing of the 
organ and the hum of the admiring spectators, Lady 
Frankland suddenly raised her eyes. Was it pure 


JUSTICE. 


415 


ftccident, or some inexplicable impulse ? Peering 
from behind a neighboring column she saw a swarthy 
face, with eyes fixed steadfastly upon her. The look 
was grave and intent. Often and again in after years 
she called up that scene, in which amid all the grand 
and sumptuous surroundings that rugged face was 
the central point of interest, and comforted herself 
with the assurance that there was neither grief nor 
anger in Job’s parting look. 

She betrayed her surprise in a tightened clutch of 
her husband’s arm ; he looked up in time to catch 
a glimpse of the retreating figure, and exchanged a 
look of intelligence with her. 

Whether on account of the interruption of business 
pending the rebuilding of the city, or of his own 
health, Frankland determined to return to England. 
He had already received thence a flood of congratu¬ 
lations from friends and kindred on his escape. In 
return, he wrote back the story of his deliverance and 
marriage. 

They were detained several weeks waiting for 
their transport, — an English ship bound from Bra¬ 
zil, which was to touch at the port and reload for 
England. 

A crowd of English and Portuguese went to see 
them off. It was surprising how popular Lady 
Frankland had suddenly become. Superlatives were 
wanting in which to set forth her grace, beauty, and 
accomplishments. She accepted the ovation quietly, 
and with certain reserves and remembrances. 

The voyage home was marked by two incidents 


416 


AGNES SURRIAGE. 


of differing importance. Whether out of regard to 
Agnes's friends at home, or the prejudices of his 
own family, Frankland had the marriage service per¬ 
formed again, — this time by an English clergyman, 
with English witnesses and ceremonial. 

The marriage proved a very agreeable diversion to 
the passengers. The bride was overwhelmed with 
such gifts as the case admitted of. Some were odd 
enough. The captain, in want of anything more 
fitting, gave a favorite Brazilian ape of great intelli¬ 
gence and docility. 

Lady Frankland was much amused with her strange 
pet, and it was in connection with it that the second 
incident above mentioned occurred. 

It chanced one windy day they shipped a sea and 
a lady passenger got soused. She had carelessly 
hung her clothes to dry where the busy, roving ape 
caught sight of them. The hoop-petticoat was a 
novelty of untold possibilities to the monkey genius. 
Hastily investing himself with it — the waistband 
drawn tightly about his neck — he suddenly appeared 
*'pon deck. Agnes stood near the gangway when 
he came bounding up. Knowing of the lady’s mis¬ 
hap, she understood the situation at a glance, and 
made a futile effort to rescue the garment. But 
quick as a flash the ape darted past her and went 
cavorting about the deck. 

The grotesque appearance of the hairy legs and 
fail below the skirt, and the sedate, mischievous face 
above, the screams of the passengers, the shocked 
consternation of the owner, — the clergyman’s maiden 
sister,—proved too much for Agnes’s gravity. She 


JUSTICE. 


417 


gave way to irresistible laughter. Like a moun¬ 
tain stream bursting forth to the sunlight after a 
long course underground, her laughter came pealing 
forth, — the native sound of mirth. With choking 
voice she tried to reassure the indignant lady. With 
tears streaming down her face she pursued the agile 
|and roguish trespasser. 

Unmoved by the spectacle from the ludicrous point 
of view, Frankland was, however, profoundly inter¬ 
ested. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not 
heard Agnes laugh like that for years, — not since 
the old happy days at Tileston Street. He was 
startled at the thought. It was a revelation which 
sent a tardy reflection backward upon certain dark 
passages in the past. Like an antidote administered 
with the bane, however, the consolation here came 
hand in hand with the remorse. Already justice had 
wrought its beneficent restorative work. The wound 
at least was healed, if he could not forget the scar. 

One last triumph awaited the happy bride. Ar¬ 
rived in London, they drove straight to Clarges 
Street. Frankland had sent word to have the house 
made ready. The news of the ship’s arrival had pre¬ 
ceded them, and they had already been expected 
some hours, when at length, just at nightfall, the 
carriage drove up to the door. They found the 
house blazing with light, but thought no more of it 
than that the servants wanted to emphasize their 
welcome. As they weariedly mounted the steps, 
full of the home-returning thoughts of rest and com¬ 
fort, the doors were flung open before them. In 
the midst of the glare of light and the crowd of ser- 


418 


AGNES SURRIAGE . 


vants stood Mrs. Frankland and her daughters. 
Agnes stopped as if petrified, with her foot upon 
the portal. 

Frankland instantly stepped forward; but his 
mother, with a certain fine instinct repressing her 
natural impulse, passed him by, and advanced 
toward the doubting figure upon the threshold. 
Putting her arms about the child of the poor fisher¬ 
man of Marblehead, she cried in broken tones, “My 
daughter! ” 

































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































